Ascension
by peroxidepest17
Summary: Cordelia’s ascension brings her face to face with a new mission and a surprise encounter. (Post “Tomorrow”)
1. Prologue: Gods and Generals

**Title** Ascension  
**Author:** Celeste  
**Rating:** PG-13 for the occasional dirty word.  
**Disclaimer:** Joss owns all. Even if he's sort of a meanie head. I only own the OCS. Which makes me feel like a hypocrite because I usually hate OCS.  
**Pairing:** elements of A/C and D/C (isn't that a band?)  
**Summary:** Cordelia's ascension brings her face to face with a new mission and a surprise encounter. (Post "Tomorrow")  
**Feedback:** keviesprincess@netscape.net  
**A/N:** Yeah, so a plot bunny sort of hit me while watching the season finale of Angel. I also got one for Buffy but I'm so depressed after the whole Spike fiasco that I decided I'll let the other, more capable authors deal with it. *Sniff* He doesn't need a soul!!!!! Oh, and while we're SO on topic, **…** denote character thoughts.  
**Dedication/Thanks:** Special thanks to Prism for seeing fit to look at this fic ahead of time, despite how stupid it got/is at numerous times. The story itself is dedicated to Skye and Mel, because they graduated this year, and will need such frivolous things as fic dedications and lava lamps to decorate their dorms in college. :P I'm sorry if it's an extremely boring story. My muse does that sometimes. But you two are great and understanding friends and realize that I have nothing of monetary value to give you. :P Happy Graduation! Archive: Let me know.

**Prologue: Gods and Generals **

_I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naïve  
I'm just out to find  
The better part of me_

I'm more than a bird  
I'm more than a plane  
I'm more than some pretty face  
Beside a train  
And it's not easy  
To be me

Wish that I could cry  
Fall upon my knees  
Find a way to lie  
About a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd  
But don't be naïve  
Even heroes have the right to bleed  
I may be disturbed but won't you concede  
Even heroes have the right to dream  
It's not easy to be me

He sighed and concentrated on scrubbing at the blade of his sword with a cloth, the rust-colored stains smudging against the cold steel as he applied some elbow grease to the job. Down in the commons area, his men sat, tired and bleeding as orderlies scurried around, seeing to the wounded while others dragged black bag after black bag of dead out the sliding metal doors towards the graveyard for a mass burial that would commence hours later. Something twanged regrettably in the pit of his stomach at the thought, but he clenched his jaw slightly and leveled his sword in front of him as if single-minded concentration would rid him of the unwarranted feelings of guilt and remorse. He was fighting a war. Casualties were to be expected.

Amidst the murmurs of the troops below, a low, keening wail was heard, solitary and mournful, someone's private dirge of grief revealed to the world because the pain was too great to hold in until a more appropriate moment. The chatter of the men stopped, dead in the background, and the wailing was allowed to go on unaccompanied, a solo that twisted in the inner pits of his stomach, made gastronomic juices well like a tide against the full roundness of the moon. He bit down on his tongue and turned away from the window in his quarters, swiveled the chair back to face the perfect mahogany stained desk to where his weapons sat, laid out before him and ready for their weekly maintenance. He was a general. The laments of his soldiers were not supposed to weaken his resolve, to hurt his loyalty to the cause.

He continued polishing, tried to think of more pleasant things than the loss of so many lives, tried to think about perhaps having a drink later with his officers, perhaps sequestering himself in his quarters to do some training in order to clear his mind. The copper layer that marred his weapon began to rub off so that he could see the clear reflective surface underneath. He turned away when his own battle scarred countenance appeared, looking back at him with a mixture equal parts bewilderment and disgust. After a moment, he gave up and set the blue blade gingerly along the table with the others before folding his hands over his mouth to rest his chin on. He closed his eyes and took a long shuddering breath, blinked back the mysterious mist of moister gathering behind the lids. He was a general. Casualties were expected. Always.

For a moment, he let his mind's eye drift towards happier times, a lifetime ago to a place where he didn't have to play the hero, wasn't expected to do more than deliver one message at a time and wait on the sidelines for a response. He'd been a gambler, an occasional drunk, sometimes a liar and sometimes a cheat. All those qualities that signified someone that wasn't the hero. He groaned and lowered his forehead to rest against his left bicep. _**That's right boyo, you were nothin'. An' wasn't it better that way?**_

"Not getting nostalgic on me now, are you, General?"

His eyes darted upwards to regard head poking into his chamber doorway, though he made no other movement. "Aren't you supposed ta knock before ya barge in on a man, Colonel?" His mouth turned into a bit of a frown though it was more weary than annoyed.

The Colonel smiled in response, a flash of long silver fangs, before dropping to all fours. "Sorry General, kinda hard to knock with the paws…I sorta just make a scratching sound … tends to scare little kids and old women," he explained, examining a massive foot paw jokingly. "Oh, and Whistler's here to see you, sir."

The General felt a tiny, threatening pressure building in the back of his brain at the mention of Whistler. He groaned and shut his eyes again. "Couldn't ya've told 'im I died in the battle last night or sumthin'?"

The Colonel padded over with a look of mirth; tail swishing back and forth like a furry python, a sign of arrogance. The General would have chopped it off and used it for a hat if he didn't need his second in command so much.

"I would have, but accordingly, you died during his last visit, remember?" The wolf-creature's tone of voice sounded apologetic, but the glint in his quicksilver eyes belied his true nature, which consisted of general amusement over his superior's predicament.

The General groaned and pulled his head up from its state of repose against his arm. "Damn. I need ta think up a new excuse. Didja ask him what 'e wanted, Maj?"

The wolf shrugged one shoulder, jumping up to rest forepaws against the edge of the desk to bring him eye level; ignoring the slight look of protest his general gave him in response to marks that would undoubtedly be left behind. "He was all properly cryptic. I figure if it's none of my business I won't hit him up for any unnecessary chit-chat unless it interests me."

"Gee, thanks, Colonel."

"My pleasure, sir. Should I send him in?"

The question was answered with a resigned wave of a hand. _**Might as well get it over with…see what the Powers 'ave to say. Maybe they'll fire me.**_ The prospect welled a certain amount of delight within him, the thought that perhaps the position he had been unwillingly placed in was about to be stripped from him and he would be allowed to return to his former life, never to play the reluctant hero again. _**Well, for the most part…**_

A moment later, and also without knocking, Whistler strolled in, hat titled at a jaunty angle on the crown of his head while he chewed on a toothpick, oily smirk plastered on his oily face. The fitting image of every slimed up sleaze-ball the General had ever met in the past, shabbily dressed and sauntering as if it had taken a great feat of effort and skill to pull that particular look off. In response, the General arched his eyebrows upward and assumed the role of a commanding officer with something better to do. "Somethin' I can help you with, Whis?"

The demon's smirk widened if possible, toothpick splaying against his cheek with the gesture. The General wondered why it didn't just fall out at that angle.

"You still got some of that good scotch holed up in here, Gen?"

He gritted his teeth as Whistler began to root through his chamber, tossing aside major battle plans and terrain maps in hopes of finding the General's secret stash. "If ya came to get drunk, you shoudla went down to Earth… they got more o' it down there than up here."

Whistler, abandoning his search at the sound of the warning in the other man's voice, stuck his hands into his jacket pocket and strolled towards the desk. "Drunk? Nah. Got work to do. How are things going up here?"

The General forced himself to remain neutral. "Same ole, same ole…" _**I got two thousand bodies to burry before the night's over, letters of consolation an' medals to give out, an' too many injured men to fit in the infirmary. I've STILL got medical teams out in the field cleaning up the mess and bringing in more dead an' injured every five fuckin' minutes. My officers are startin' to doubt my leadership, an' the whole boat could go down unless somethin' good happens in the next few weeks.**_ " … everythin's fine."

Whistler looked unconvinced. "Sure it is."

"You said you had work to do? Or did the Powers construct a new chit-chat division and decided to let ya head it?"

Amused, Whistler hoisted himself up on the corner of the desk, wary of the weapons inches from his posterior. "We found another one to bring up," he explained, smiling largely and grabbing a paperweight from the desk. "You're gettin' help in the next few days." He tossed the crystal globe from one hand to the other. 

Eyebrows arched higher. "That so?" he asked, reaching in-between and grabbing his paperweight mid-flight and setting it back on the table with a look belying to Whistler the fact that if he touched the weight again, the next thing he'd be tossing from hand to hand would be his teeth.

Whistler got the hint, and nestled his hands in his lap. "Yeah… demon hybrid from Earth. We're thinkin' of making her an officer right off the bat. Got some powerful blood in her, didn't even corrupt half way. She's comin' up."

The General assumed the dutifully impressed expression. "From Earth?"

Whistler nodded, tongue in cheek, as if trying to suppress something. The 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' type of something. He would have made a terrible poker player with that expression on his face. "Took some convincing, but Skip got her to come up. She's gonna help save this realm."

_**Somethin' I couldn't do…**_ The General shook his head. "She takin' over, then?"

"Oh c'mon there, Al… don't look so relieved. You're still top dog in these parts. Powers wouldn't replace you for no one…not even one of their souled vamps. And that's the truth."

A quirk of interest flashed in the General's eyes. "Plural, souled vamps?"

Whistler picked up a dagger and examined it, nonchalantly before remembering the earlier threat. He put it back down hastily and continued to talk. "A new development on Earth… the Powers are milking it, believe me. But that's not the point. The point is, expect someone new in about fifteen hours. I think you'll want to show her the ropes, personally."

Blue-green eyes narrowed in response. "I get the feelin' I'm not gonna like this."

A chortle escaped Whistler's throat, and the toothpick fell out of his mouth and landed on the desk with a minute, wet sounding smack. Sheepishly, Whistler snatched it up with his hand and, much to his companion's disgust, stuck it back between his teeth before speaking again. "Depends on your definition of like, Doyle-boy."

The General's eyes slitted. "How many times I haveta tell you not to call me that?"

Another laugh from the other demon. "You're a hoot, kid. Love it. Anyway, that's all I got to say. I'm out. Gotta go see a vampire about a mission. Boy, Angel's gonna love it when he finds out who Soul-boy Jr. is…" Whistler hopped off the desk with a certain amount of practiced flourish and headed for the door.

"Angel? Wait…" Doyle stood up, calling after Whistler.

The other demon paused just in front of the door, head tilted to the side. "Yeah, kid?"

The Irishman felt partially stupid for even asking, for being so transparent. "Angel…how is he?"

Whistler shrugged one shoulder lazily. "Still on the path. Hit a road bump or two. He'll get over it."

Doyle sat back down slowly, watching the demon messenger's back as he left the office. "Oh." The door clicked shut.

_I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naïve  
I'm just out to find  
The better part of me_

I'm more than a bird  
I'm more than a plane  
I'm more than some pretty face  
Beside a train  
And it's not easy  
To be me

Wish that I could cry  
Fall upon my knees  
Find a way to lie  
About a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd  
But don't be naïve  
Even heroes have the right to bleed  
I may be disturbed but won't you concede  
Even heroes have the right to dream  
It's not easy to be me


	2. Part I: Lost and Gained

**Part I: Lost and Gained**

_All the power to be strong  
And the wisdom to be wise  
All these will come to you in time  
On this journey that you're making  
There'll be answers that you seek  
And it's you who'll climb the mountain  
It's you who'll reach the peak_

Son of man look to the sky  
Lift your spirit, set it free  
Someday you'll walk tall with pride  
Son of man a man in time you'll be

The Colonel offered to escort Whistler to the dimensional travel bay, intent on a little recon for himself. "So, what was behind this visit, huh? You usually don't bring good news, Whis. And on the rare occasions you do, you usually get into some of General Doyle's scotch before you leave."

Whistler eyed the wolf-creature in his peripheral vision, sly as ever. "Let's just say you might have to worry some about stayin' as boss #2, Maj. As for the scotch, bastard hides it in a new place every time."

There was a little howl of laughter. "Well I'll be damned. Sounds like you're bringin' someone in. All I can say is, about time."

"So you're not sore about the possibility of losin' your 2IC?" The toothpick in the demon messenger's mouth made its way from right to left, thoughtfully.

Maj shook his muzzle. "They want the job, they can have it. Not as glorious as I thought it'd be. Maybe I could go home, huh?"

"Don't count on it, Maj, not yet anyway." Whistler inhaled, hissing the air between his teeth before letting it out again in a long suffering sigh. "Well, got a feelin, ya know? Something big's gonna happen soon. Can't tell what. But two centuries of out and out war and ya gotta figure everyone involved 's sick of it."

Silver eyes darted upward at Whistler's seemingly random musings. "Are you saying…?"

Whistler held out his hands to stop the inquiry before it was finished. "Wait, wait, wait, I didn't say anything. I'm just saying that if some things don't start changing for the better, all of this could go down the hill, for either side."

Maj seated himself on his haunches, looking forward. "So… one way or another it could…"

Whistler nodded, tipping his hat up so he could look down on the Colonel. "One way or another, kid. Unless the things that are broken get fixed. And it doesn't help that the humans have got some gifted leadership, either. I'm out. Have other work to do."

Maj watched Whistler slip out the doors and past the guards, into the travel bay, fading into the darkness like oil. He used his hind foot to scratch contemplatively behind one ear as the doors shut behind the messenger.

"Got a flea, Colonel?"

The Colonel stopped scratching immediately and stood up, shaking his fur before turning to face the speaker. "Shouldn't you be getting the podium ready for the funeral, Major?"

She sighed. "I was, but Tauri took over. You know what a dictator he can be. Wouldn't let me say so much as a word."

Maj drew back his lips in a ridiculous dog-grin. "Gwyn, you outrank him."

She threw her hands up, inadvertently sending a cascade of incandescent white sparks raining harmlessly down in the air around her. "That's what I said. I'd lodge a complaint to the General, but…"

"He'd laugh at you," Maj finished. "I know I was tempted."

She shot him a dirty look. "This chain of command is fucked up."

"Two hundred years of war does that to an establishment."

She sighed and crossed her arms, and Maj wondered how much teasing she would take before that blue skin of hers turned red. Remembering the fireworks, he decided not to try. "Listen Major, why don't we head down to the Officer's lounge? Darnell owes me a favor, we'll make him distract Kaita and get us some whiskey before the meeting."

She looked at him levelly. "I'm not watching you lap up alcohol out of a saucer. You spray." 

He chortled. "Yeah, well, I'm handicapped." He lifted a paw and shook it at her. "No hands." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doyle regarded the intercom for a moment, looking up from one of the letters he was writing. Handwritten, damn it. None of those reproduced shits that meant as little as the time they'd saved. His officers deserved better. _**Ah, miracle of mass production. Wave o' the future.**_ Ignoring his own sarcasm, he turned back to the paper.

Dear Missus Kajerinale and family… I regret to inform you…

He paused and looked back at the intercom. _**Can't even get the first one started, can ye, man? Not as if ya haven't written a million an' a half o' these before, ya still can't quite get the hang of it…"**_

With a snarl of disgust, he dropped the pen onto his desk and pushed the intercom button with unnecessary malice._ *Take that, you evil-doin' button. Ha.**_

"Yes, General?"

"Seeza, put me through to housin', will ya?"

"Yes sir."

One beep later, and a tired sounding voice came through. "Yes, General?"

"Gem, Whistler stopped by. We got another one o' his graduates comin' up in the next day're so. Mind havin' one o' the nicer rooms we got free set up for her?"

Gem sighed. "Sure General, I'll see what I can do. Most of our rooms are going out to house injured and sick, but I'll probably be able to kick out one of the fast healers after the funeral."

"That'll be fine, darlin'. Thank ye." He pushed the button again, and the beep told him the connection had been severed. He stared at the intercom a moment longer. Shaking his head, he picked up his pen, and stuck the end into his mouth, chewing with his teeth. After studying the paper he'd written on a moment longer, he shook his head and balled it up, tossing it over his shoulder, where it bounced off the wall and fell into the trash can, atop a snow-cone shaped pile of previous rejects. With a deep breath, he started over.

_Dear Missus Kajerinale and family… it is with the deepest, most heartfelt sympathy of the United Kingdom of Kaylorin Protective Army that we write you today to inform you of the death of your husband…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia looked around. "It's very white."

It was very white. In fact, it was the 'looking-directly-into-headlights-and-not-blinking type of white.' She sat down. "What's with the flight delay? I thought the Powers had all-access passes to these kinds of things!" she called out, more to fill the silence around her than to actually complain. Mostly. _**Skip could have at least told me to bring a magazine. Oh, or a change of clothes…**_ she looked down at her white dress. _**Definitely voting for a change of clothes. Angel might have liked this number but I'm SO not messing this up fighting evil…**_

"Cross dimensional waiting period, if you're interested."

She screamed and jumped up, looking around wildly. "Who said that?"

Skip materialized in a swirl of black. "Hey, Cordy."

She sighed with relief, hand at her chest, trying to will her heartbeat to return from hyper-lightspeed. "God, Skip! Warn a person, would you?"

The demon guide winked. "Sorry babe, thought I had more work to do, but apparently they got someone else working on it. Powers figured seeing me, the vampire might kill me. Because, you know, big...scary…black demon thing…" He raised his hands over his head like claws and made a horrific face, then lowered them and shrugged dismissively. "Honestly, this whole demon taboo needs to simmer down a bit." He leaned over to whisper to her. "Personally, I think I'm a way better guide than Whistler. He's kind of slimy."

She, of the confused, decided to humor him. "I'll bet."

"Anyway, since I had some free time, I thought I'd come up here and wait out with you."

"Yeah, about that. Why wait?"

He chuckled a bit at her impatience. "This isn't a Snickers commercial, Cord. Cross-dimensional travel is very complicated, at least on this level. And I mean on the divine level here, not your wacky-sorcerer-of-the-week-opening-one-to-banish-his-ex-girlfriend kind of dimension hopping. The Powers are all about balance, and they have to make sure the scales are ready to take you on the other end, check you over, etc. Throw the balance out of whack, and something like Connor and Holtz will happen again. So hence, the waiting period. It's not any worse than your usual Denver-LA layover, trust me."

She snorted and sat back down, cross-legged. "You obviously have never been laid-over in Denver." She paused, eyes narrowing. "If I have to wait, how come I didn't get to say goodbye to Angel?! Or anyone? What was the big, 'we have to go NOW now' speech?"

"Would have had to wait anyway, regardless, I figured the sooner we got you there the better. It's not so bad. Really." He waved his hand around, and a package of Oreo's appeared between his fingers. "Cookie?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a sound of what could only be described as quarter-hearted applause as Doyle stepped off the podium and the diggers began to layer dirt on the graves. There would be food in the commons area, and a special conference between officers to report on regiment status after the ceremonial customs had been dealt with for each individual soldier, according to their dimension of origin. He stretched a kink in his neck. The combination of battle pressure, 18-hour days and general duties made him ache from one tip of his spine to the other. He shifted back into human face. _**Now only me skin can hurt. Yay.** _

He looked up as Gwyn approached him. "It was a nice ceremony, Major. Flowers were lovely," he stated right off.

She sighed. "Tauri did it."

"Oh."

After a thoughtful pause, she stepped forward, uncertainly. "Sir? I just heard this myself, but Aun wanted me to tell you that he's not going to be able to make it to the Officer's meeting this morning..." she trailed off.

His brows knitted at her hesitant tone. It wasn't like her to not be straight to the point with him. "Gwyn, you'n I both know Aun never misses a meeting. What's wrong?"

She blinked hard once or twice. "Um, he's going to be in the infirmary. Aur's dying." She sounded choked.

The General's countenance fell. "What?"

"On of the recovery teams brought him in during the ceremony…just found him. His crystal, sir, it was cracked. He's got maybe six, seven hours left." She couldn't meet his eyes.

Doyle looked at the ground, new energy forming somewhere in him, angry energy. "Dammit. Dammit!!" He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. In a choked voice he began to mutter, "I need to go see him. I need to…I need to call his family…I…"

Gwyn put a shaking hand on his shoulder. "I was just going myself, General. We'll go together."

He nodded and let her lead him back inside. "What happened, exactly?" Doyle asked, voice breaking unintentionally. He cleared his throat and fiddled with the lapel of his jacket.

"Aur's regiment got hit the most severely, Breia's corps cut him and his men off from Tauri's group, surrounded them and slaughtered most of them. Aur wouldn't leave when his Sergeants offered a backdoor…"

The Irishman blinked back tears. _**Just what we need now, man. Fer the only female officer ta see you break out with th' cryin' like a babe…**_ Taking a deep breath, he shook himself back. "There's nothing we can do?"

She shook her head. "Archimell has him on something for the pain, but he can't do anything else but make him comfortable."

They turned a corner and two huge pressurized sliding doors slid into the wall, allowing them access. On the other side, nurses and orderlies were still scrambling, dealing with injured from the recent battle, dealing with the dying. Doyle put his hand on the shoulder of one nurse rushing by, and startled, she stopped, looking up at him. She almost seemed surprised to see that General Doyle would be all the way down here. "Sir?"

"Aur, where is he?"

"Lieutenant Aurelin is down this hallway, sir…" she pointed behind her, "…first room on the left."

He nodded and removed his hand, letting her continue, scurrying to wherever it was she had been going. Regarding the hall like an enemy, Doyle gazed down the length, a swelling tide of dread churning in his belly. He swallowed.

"Sir?" Gwyn put a hand on his forearm. "Sir, if you don't want to, I can send the Lieutenant your regards…"

He quickly shook her hand off. "No, no. I'm goin'. He deserves that much. Deserves a whole damn lot more." He strode forward with more courage than he felt. At the door, he took a deep breath and knocked, quietly.

"'S Open."

Creaking it open, he peered inside. "Aun?"

"Sir?" The haunt-eyed Captain peered up at him from his brother's deathbed.

Doyle lowered his voice. "How is 'e?"

The Captain closed his eyes and looked down at the floor. "Slipping, sir."

Doyle stepped inside, Gwyn after him. He looked down at the bed, took in the pale, sea foam color of his Lieutenant in stark contrast to the vibrant verdant of his brother, who sat at his bedside. The emerald in his forehead sputtered and crackled, a lightning shaped hole splintered down the center of it. "Oh, Aur…" The sadness in his voice was heart rendering. "Oh Aur, I'm so sorry."

Weakly, a tail peaked out from under the bed and jabbed at the General half-heartedly. "None of that, sir. None of that, hey," Aur croaked. "My own fault, yeah." He chuckled hoarsely, slitted yellow eyes flickering dark for a moment. "Didn't see the bastard till he was right behind me."

Aun leaned over his brother. "Hey, take it easy, take it easy."

"Was a good fight though, huh General? We drove 'em back. Bastards were cryin,' hey."

Doyle blinked fiercely. "Yeah, Aur. We did great."

"Sorry to leave you, on such short notice…" Aur managed a feeble wink. "Know we need all the help…" he wheezed, "we can get."

Doyle placed a hand on his officer's shoulder. "Whistler came by, Aur. Said they were bringin' one up from Earth, me own home. Don't you worry about anythin' now then. Just relax. Take it easy, eh?"

A raspy laugh escaped from between the lizard-man's clamped teeth. "Yeah. Take it easy. Relax." He sounded skeptical, but in good humor anyway. "Ay, ay, sir…grant a dyin' officer a last request, eh? Eh?"

Doyle leaned closer. "Of course, Aur. Whatever ye want, my friend."

"Closer." Aur beckoned with one hooked claw. "Closer, sir, if ya could, sir."

Doyle obligingly leaned in. "Yeah?"

Aur's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I want…" his voice died off, and he licked dry reptilian lips. "I want…"

"Whatever you say, Aur. Just lemme know."

"I what…ya to get laid sometime this century…it… it helps with the stress, hey." Then he burst out into a snort of laughter, which soon turned into a series of hacking coughs.

Doyle couldn't help but smile a little. "Don't got time for women, Aur."

Aur accepted a sip from a bedside glass from his brother. "Hey, always time for women, General. Always time."

Aun frowned again, a knitting of his scales to form a V in the middle of his forehead. "Hey, last request, you should have gotten me General's good Scotch, hey." Then he smiled, watery, but there.

Aur snorted and looked over Doyle's shoulder. "Gwyn?"

She put on a brave front, a small smile. "Hey, Lieutenant."

"Hey, take care of Aun, will you? He's a mule sometimes."

She smiled and nodded. "I outrank him."

He laughed. "You do." The emerald on his forehead fizzled, and he jerked in pain. "Argh…damn it."

Doyle and Gwyn both backed away, looking at Aun. "We'll leave you two alone…" Doyle stated quietly. The Lizard-man nodded and moved to his brother's side without another word. Taking one glance behind their shoulders, Doyle and Gwyn left together.

Outside the door, the General's composure shattered. "Oh God, Gwyn. Damn." He leaned against the wall. "Aur's… he's…"

She nodded. "So brave."

"God, I could kill 'im, fer not gettin' out… kick his damn stupid ass fer gettin' himself killed…but damn it…"

She looked at him with luminescent topaz eyes. "He would never leave his men."

Doyle sighed and closed his eyes, face tilted heavenward. "He never would." After a few moments, he took another breath and righted himself. "An' we have to go see about the reception…"

"Sir, maybe you should get some sleep? Maj and I can handle the reception."

"No, I can't. We 'ave to start doling out compensation payments an' arrange fer the families flyin' in tomorror to pay respects… I can't…"

She strengthened the resolve in her voice, was pleased when it didn't crack as expected. "Sir, Maj and I can handle it. We speak more demon languages than you anyway. If anything, you'd only be underfoot."

Doyle eyed the blue creature, the face of pixies his mother had told bedtime stories about as a lad in Ireland looking back at him. "Gwyn…"

She shook her head. "I insist, sir. Maj will insist too. The officer's meeting isn't for another five hours at least… get some rest. By the time you wake up you'll thank me for it."

He ran a hand through dishelved hair. "Alright, Major. Alright. But the second somthin' goes off kilter, I want a wake-up, okay?"

"Okay."

"That's an order, Major."

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They never did wake him up for that meeting. Instead, Maj had slipped into Doyle's room while he'd been sleeping and laid out a full report of the gathering as well as a plate of lunch. As if that made up for it.

With an enraged litany of muttering, Doyle began to get dressed, realizing that there were a mere handful of hours before the new officer was arriving and he had yet to inform the base. Hastily donning his standard issue slate-gray uniform and running to the sink to splash some water on his face, he grabbed half of his lunch and the folder with the report in it, marching out of the Officer's quarters and towards his office.

Upon reaching the door, he swung it open and poked his head in, seeing his secretary, who was in the midst of licking and sealing each and every one of the consolation letters he had managed to finish before the funeral. He spared her a sympathetic glance as he chewed a piece of bread. "Seez, ya mind callin' the Officers into the conference room again? Bastards didn't wake me up an' there was somethin' I needed to tell the lot that they might not 'a been aware of."

"Sure thing, Doyle." She made a face and put down the envelope she had been licking. "Right away?"

"Right away, darlin'. Thanks." He leaned backwards and shut the door, turning around to head straight for the conference room. _**No time to even mourn…is Aur still with us? When did 'e go? Is Aun okay?**_ He reached the conference room and slipped into the doors, flipped on the lights. _**No time… no time. War to fight…**_ Five minutes later, his Officers all scrambled in, some looking wary, seeing the expression on their General's face. The majority of them began to regret going along with the Colonel's harebrained idea that the General didn't need to be in on the _officers'_ meeting. Some, Maj and Gwyn mostly, looked nonplussed.

Silent and stone faced, Doyle sat with arms laid on both armrests, one finger tapping. They gathered in the seats around him. "You wanted to see us, sir?"

Doyle stopped tapping. "Yeah. Thought I'd announce that a new officer's…"

"Joining us, we told them already, sir," Maj interrupted.

Doyle eyed his 2IC. "Maj, you don't shut yer pipehole this second an' I'll skin yer hide an' use it fer me winter coat." He could, too.

The wolf's jaw snapped shut. "Aye, sir."

The General turned back to the rest of his officers. "As I was sayin'… new officer's arrivin' in about 2 hours…3 hours…" he sighed and closed his eyes, looking like a massive subterranean headache was emerging from the sewers of his mind to wreak havoc in downtown Tokyo. "Urm…Maj, when did Whistler show, 'xactly?"

Maj grinned. Man needed him after all. "'bout 12 hours ago, sir."

"Thanks. Yeah, so about three hours. I need all the ceremonial shit set up in two."

"We started preparing for his arrival already…" Gwyn announced, but Doyle cut her off with a hand.

"It's a 'she.' She's comin' from Earth, probably won't eat anythin' that don't 'moo' or 'cluck,' if at all, knowin' Earth women. She'll be tired after the cross-dimensional layover… her chamber's gotta be perfect, or at least clean of blood. Soon as she arrives we'll announce her to the troops, get a lay o' her experience, an' then commence with Aur's funeral." He grit his teeth. "After we bury 'im… get an analysis on her, we'll let her get settled. Kal, I want you to start sending out commissions for a new regiment, to be completed within a month. She should be ready by then."

They were silent.

He cleared his throat. "You all got that memorized, then? Questions?"

No one raised a hand.

Doyle stood up. "Good. Dismissed." He left the room first.

_All the power to be strong  
And the wisdom to be wise  
All these will come to you in time  
On this journey that you're making  
There'll be answers that you seek  
And it's you who'll climb the mountain  
It's you who'll reach the peak_

Son of man look to the sky  
Lift your spirit, set it free  
Someday you'll walk tall with pride  
Son of man a man in time you'll be  



	3. Part II: Hello

**Part II: Hello**

_Hello, I've waited here for you  
Everlong  
Tonight, I throw myself into  
Out of the red  
Out of her head she sang_

Come down, and waste away with me  
Down with me  
So how you wanted it to be  
Over my head  
Out of her head she sang

And I wonder  
When I sing along with you  
If everything will ever be this good forever  
If anything will ever be this good again  
The only thing I've ever asked of you  
Gotta promise not to stop when I say when

Skip looked upward. "Almost that time, Cordy."

Her eyes went wide. "ALMOST? We've been in here FOREVER!" She gestured to the stack of magazines Skip had conjured up for her from his own personal stash. "And all of your material is like, three years old."

He shrugged. "Don't usually have a lot of time to read. But if you look through the Home and Garden, there's a wicked summer barbeque recipe."

She ran a hand through her hair. "Uh…why don't you tell me about this place you're taking me?" she changed the subject.

Skip looked uncomfortable. "Well, I don't usually go there, it's Whistler's assignment."

She poked him in the shoulder. "C'mon, you've got to know something."

He sighed. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to be giving you details. It wasn't in the mission statement. All I know is it was another dimension a lot like earth. Had the good, the evil living together. Then all of a sudden the bad guys get some inspirational leadership and embroil the whole plane in all out war. It's lasted about 2 centuries. Of their time, anyway. It's creepy. They have armies and uniforms and everything. It's very _Starship Troopers_."

Cordelia shuddered. "And they need me?"

Skip smiled. "Honey, they need all the help they can get. You especially."

"God, that's a lot of responsibility."

The demon guide placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. You'll have help. I hear they've assembled a good bunch of the Powers' champions up there. Just like you."

"You mean I'm not the only one?"

He laughed. "Oh, no. Definitely no. We have a lot of faith in you, but we wouldn't make you fight a whole war on your own. What we've been doing is bringing in graduates from other dimensions to lead the fight here, people that are good, like you, to help try and restore order in the Kaylorin dimension. They come from all different types of dimensions. The least number of them have come from earth in the past… it makes you and a few others really special."

She sighed and leaned backwards against some invisible wall. "That's a lot of pressure."

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. We only bring up the best, remember? Called this one guy up about three years ago, saved the good guys from annihilation. We're pretty sure you'll do the same."

She smiled a little. "I guess we'll see in…how long now?"

"Not long…" Skip paused, thoughtful. "In fact…"

The general whiteness of the vicinity grew brighter, if possible, and Cordelia had to wonder if the Powers That Be might be having an epileptic fit and if so, whether they had hospitals or not. "What's happening?"

"You just caught your connecting flight to Kaylorin, Cordy. Good luck!!"

She didn't have time to answer him before everything faded around her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia's head seemed to be whipping from side to side, the kind of rollercoaster movement that left her with kinks in her neck that could only be worked out by a heat pack and hours of self-pity. _**Ladies and gentlemen, as we approach our final destination we'll be encountering some turbulence, and the idiot captain forgot to turn the fasten seatbelt sign back on…**_ She would have snorted at her own clever thoughts, but she feared the movement might cause a sudden cerebral hemorrhage or something of the like… later, she vowed to kill Skip for neglecting to tell her that reentry was a bitch.

Suddenly, she was thrown from her original trajectory, and almost screamed at the force of it, except she couldn't quite get her mouth open with the air working against the muscles of her mouth. Crashing downward, she gasped when her feet hit something solid, and she realized she was stumbling. Solid ground…she hadn't even realized it. Taking another deep breath of air she shook herself, ignoring the blinding flash of light and rumbling noises that accompanied her arrival like something out of _Xena: Warrior Princess_ without the lesbian undertones. In the background, a voice droned on about something, only audible because she strained to hear it, needing something to focus on while she regained a state of equilibrium.

"We of the United Kingdom of Kaylorin Protective Army welcome you to our realm in 'opes that…"

_**Wait a minute…I know that voice…**_ She strained to hear better.

"… you 'ave come to pledge yer' skill an' loyalty to the cause o' worldwide peace…"

_**I DO know that voice!!!! But…that's not… it's not…is it?**_

"…though ye hail from another land all together, the Powers that Be have deemed you a being of goodness an' believe that you…"

_**It IS!!!!**_ Cordelia let out a high-pitched, excited squeal- something along the level that only dogs could hear. He was alive. "DOYLE!!!" she shouted, before springing off the platform, intent on giving him the hugging of his life. He was alive!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Doyle blinked as a flash of light rippled in the entry bay, and he threw out his arm. At the signal, the corps behind him immediately stood at attention, ceremonial uniforms flashing to add the room's festive decoration with swords' blade salutes. On the other end of the reception room the Officers were placed on either side of a white carpet with the UKKPA symbol emblazoned on it in gold stitches. They stared ahead, rock-like statue guards saluting the arrival of another into their ranks. Maj and Doyle both stood at the end of the carpet at ease, like motley destinations. They faced straight ahead, looking at what seemed to be a spinning ball of light. They watched as it slowly grew in diameter, ringlets like Jupiter's whipping around its body in silver lightning orbit.

"Attention! Officer arrival of dimension Earth! Look sharp, men!" Maj bellowed, voice bouncing off the walls of the elliptical room.

Doyle cleared his throat as the ball grew and split in a brilliant flash, stretched into a jagged line that seemed to rip the very fabric of time. His face remained passive, but inside, a wellspring of hope stirred within him, the thought that this would be a change in the tide, that the Powers might have found someone better suited to save this world than he.

There was a sudden flash, the sound of clapping thunder, and a figure stepped from the dimensional fissure, glowing in a blinding halo of incandescent light. Squinting, Doyle's eyes shifted first left then right at his officers, who stood without flinching at the brightness. He stood up straighter and raised his voice, ready to begin the official welcome statement, as protocol demanded.

"We of the United Kingdom of Kaylorin Protective Army welcome you to our realm in 'opes that…"

He faltered slightly as the light suddenly dimmed, and closed his eyes to ignore the funny blindness such sudden shifts in environment caused his vision. He continued his welcome greeting. "… you 'ave come to pledge yer' skill an' loyalty to the cause o' worldwide peace… though ye hail from another land all together, the Powers that Be have deemed you a being of goodness an' believe that you…"

A high-pitched scream pierced the air, and startled that it came from the new arrival, the General stopped speaking, eyes shooting open. The figure dashed off the platform, running towards him, ephemeral in white, a cry escaping its throat as it descended upon him. Immediately, the officers formed a solid phalanx between them, stances ready to protect unarmed superiors. Doyle and Maj looked at each other. The wolf shook his head, standing on hindquarters in hopes of seeing over the crowd of officers blocking their view. "I don't suppose this is a good sign, General."

"Understatement, man. You've a talent fer it."

~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia grunted as her forward momentum was suddenly stopped, as a line of uniformly dressed demons appeared out of thin air around her. She screamed as menacing eyes looked down at her from all sides, the faces of beasts growling around her, to each other in gruff tones. She felt one's hands close around her left forearm, and tried to land a punch with her free fist. "Let go of me!" she demanded, swinging as hard as she could, only to have the blow deflected and her right arm restrained similarly as her left.

"She's trying to attack the General!" someone called over their shoulder, as more and more uniformed demons seemed to spill into her line of vision.

_**I swear, if the Powers put me in the middle of some evil demon battle I quit. I quit right now! No more super-Cordy!**_ She struggled ineffectually, subdued by arms much stronger than her. _**Wait a second…duh…**_ "DOYLE!!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Doyle squinted into what was shaping up to be a grade A melee. "I don' think the Powers'd send us a nutcase…well, a complete one, anyhow…"

Maj shrugged. "We'll let them get control of her… see what happened."

"Maybe the cross-travel got to 'er," the General suggested, thoughtful. "I knew when I came outta there I was half out o' me mind an' scared."

Maj chortled. "Yeah, but you mostly just looked around and shook a lot. Maybe this one's really cracked her nut."

"That doesn't seem right, Maj."

"Hey, the Powers aren't infallible, are they?"

"Don' know."

They stood for a second longer, nine officers attempting to restrain the new arrival. "What a damn circus…"

"DOYLE!!"

Maj's head shot towards the General. "Sir! How does she know your…" the question died on his lips as he took in his commander's expression. "Sir?"

The haunted look in Doyle's face scared him, a mixture of disbelief, haunted apprehension, and skepticism. A wacky blender of mix'n match emotions. "No…" Doyle muttered under his breath. "It can't…"

"Sir, is something the matter?"

Ignoring Maj, the General sprung towards the crowd. "Stand down!! Stand down right now dammit, or I'll start hackin' off ears! STAND DOWN!!"

Shocked, the small struggle stopped as Officers immediately ceased where they stood, dropping the human girl that had begun attacking them in her own defense. She landed on the floor with an indignant thud. Doyle shoved past a Captain and a Corporal, ignoring their startled yelps, and kneeled down beside her. "Cordy? Cordelia?"

Shaking her head a little dazedly, she managed to get onto all fours. "All right, who punched me in the nose?!"

Everyone was silent. Doyle put a hand on her arm. "Cord, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine I…" She suddenly looked up, one hand still at her rather red looking nose. "Doyle!! It is you!"

He managed a meek smile. "'Ey, Princess."

Much to everyone's amazement, she immediately proceeded to throw her arms around him, making all sorts of human happy-noises. "Oh my God, Doyle! You're alive! How? Not that I'm not happy… Why are you here? How have you been? I can't believe this…how long have you been here?"

He chuckled a little and returned the embrace, not bothering to answer any of her questions. Instead, he closed his eyes. She smelled different.

"General? Explain…"

He was brutally shoved back into reality by the sound of Gwyn's voice, his Major sporting a dark purple bruise on her cheek. Opening his eyes, he drew back from Cordelia's embrace and stared at her face, a strange, almost sad, almost happy half-smile on his face. "Everyone, meet Cordelia."

_Hello, I've waited here for you  
Everlong  
Tonight, I throw myself into  
Out of the red  
Out of her head she sang_

Come down, and waste away with me  
Down with me  
So how you wanted it to be  
Over my head  
Out of her head she sang

And I wonder  
When I sing along with you  
If everything will ever be this good forever  
If anything will ever be this good again  
The only thing I've ever asked of you  
Gotta promise not to stop when I say when


	4. Part III: The Information Age

**Part III: The Information Age**

_Whatever you do  
I'll do it too  
Show me everything and tell me how  
It all means something  
And yet nothing to me_

I can see there's so much to learn  
It's all so close and yet so far  
I see myself as people see me  
Oh, I just know there's something  
Bigger out there

I wanna know, can you show me  
I wanna know about these  
Strangers like me  
Tell me more, please show me  
Something's familiar about these strangers like me

Later that evening, after they'd given Cordelia time to get situated in her quarters and to shower and change, the officers were assembled in the main conference room. Cordelia looked up and down the length of the big table, nervous at the silence, so full of questions about Doyle. "So they put you in charge here?"

He seemed to go sheepish under her scrutiny. "Yeah…guess they ran out o' choices." He chuckled to himself lightly.

She effectively smacked him in the shoulder. "Don't say that. I know you, Doyle. You deserve to be here. And in charge, too."

He looked down at the conference table, but didn't argue with her. He remembered how futile it was.

Maj laughed at his superior's silence. "Man, I like her."

Doyle coughed, a look of disapproval communicated between himself and his 2IC. "Um, well, we'll catch up ina bit then, Cord. I s'pose we need to get ta th' business at hand first."

She nodded. "Right. Of course. Helping the helpless, priority one. So, what's the mission statement for this place? What demon butt are we kicking?" All heads turned towards her. She looked around. "What?"

Doyle scratched at the back of his head. "Um, things are a bit different here than back in LA, Princess."

"Yeah? How?"

"Well, if you'd take a look around… you're the only human here."

She did take a look around. "And there's you, you big dummy."

He sighed and shifted into his Brachen form. "Not really."

"Well, that." She dismissed it with a wave, and he wondered why it didn't make him feel as good as it might have three years ago. "I thought I told you, I don't care about that."

He shifted back to human features anyway. "Well, the demons here… well, not technically all demons, but not human, I guess."

Her eyes narrowed at his elusiveness. "Spit it out, Doyle. What's up?" She tapped her index finger on the table for emphasis.

"Well Cord, it's not the demons that're the problem here in Kaylorin." He scratched at the side of his arm. "It's actually the humans."

She looked at him for a moment, to make sure he wasn't joking, eyebrows jumping upward (to her credit) only a fraction of an inch. "I see…" she looked around at the colorful assortment of officers. "Which explains the Giant Lizard, I guess…" she looked over at Aun. "He looks kind of grumpy."

Gwyn looked slightly annoyed at the new arrival's bluntness. She found it grating. "His brother just died."

Cordy's hand went to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry." She looked at Doyle. "I think you better tart talking before your whole team here hates me."

"Um, yeah. Actually, Maj has a slideshow." He gestured to the giant wolf.

"Wow, prepared."

"It's better than me gettin' everyone confused, I s'pose."

Maj nodded to Kal, and Cordelia watched as a robot straight out of Transformers got up and hit the lights. She bit her tongue.

Maj leapt from his chair and gestured towards a very tall winged guy, who pulled down a projector screen. Another nod and the blue-skinned girl that obviously didn't like her much flipped a button. A hole opened up in the center of the table and a projector looking type thing was raised up. With the push of a button it flickered to life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later, the lights were turned back on. Cordelia blinked, and all eyes turned on her.

She held out a hand. "So let me get this straight. You're fighting a war in this dimension because hundreds years ago, all the humans got infected by some big, dark evil?"

Doyle nodded. "Sorta like the story o' the creation o' the first vampire on earth… gettin' fused wid evil and becomin' a demon an' all that… 'cept here it happens to be that the humans haven't turned all bloodthirsty an' pale."

Cordy nodded. "So I saw. They're just…evil. And what, the people… er… things… inhabitants… of this dimension coexisted with them here like people and vamps back home for like, half a millennium?"

Doyle nodded. "Good guys, bad guys just goin' 'bout their business."

"And then one day one of the humans just got all inspired and was like, 'hey, let's rule this dimension'?" she asked, making a fist and pounding it on the table for effect.

"Seph," Maj nodded, naming the ancient aggressor that had embroiled the world in war and destruction.

"And so the good guys rally the troops and the other…inhabitants…living here to fight back against him?"

"Held their own fer 'bout a century…then things started gettin' bad. Powers had to intervene or this dimension and the immediate ones below an' above it would be sucked right into nothin'."

"And that's when the whole, 'bring in fighters from other places' idea kicked in?"

"And it's why you'n me and the rest of us are here, babe," Maj finished with a little wink.

"Yeah, so they bring guys like us in, and we lead them, and fight and stuff… and it's been like this for two hundred years?"

Everyone nodded.

Cordelia stared straight ahead, eyes growing larger. "Wow. That sucks."

Maj snorted. "I have said I like this girl, right?"

"Numerous times, sir," the cyborg responded automatically.

"Okay, so now I've got the whole thousand year history. Fill me in on what's been happening since you got here, boss." She tapped Doyle on the leg, and he started a little at the contact.

"Oh, lately? Yeah… well, when I got here after that night on the Quintessa…" he trailed off, a distasteful expression on his face. "Er… when I first got here, th' commandin' officer, General Fessing was just planin' on launching some big battle attack plan, thought he'd end the whole thing in one swoop an' slaughter the whole o' the humans."

"And, it didn't work, obviously. What happened?"

"'E got killed," Doyle sighed. "I warned 'im not to go on with th' plan, cause there were too many things in 'is strategy that could go awry if the timin' wasn't just right And o' course it wasn't right, so the whole op got blown to 'ell. Fessing died on the retreat. Sad day. Had to find a new leader…"

"And everyone picked you," she finished for him, her russet eyes shining up into his in an uncomfortable mix of faith in his ability and pride in his accomplishments.

He swallowed and looked down at the table. "Yeah. You know, after I got some basic trainin' in. They figured some new perspective would be good fer leadership."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, then General Doyle here's been our leader since. After the battle of Fessing's Folly, we were seriously demoralized… Doyle here led us on a successful offensive a month after and made us feel a damned sight better about ourselves," Maj grunted.

She smiled luminously. "Always the hero."

He cringed slightly.

"Anyway, about a week before you got here, thought we got hold of some reliable info…"

Doyle and Aun both gritted their teeth as Maj began to explain the most recent of the recent events.

"…but we got ambushed while we were preparing our own ambush and all hell broke loose. Battle only ended yesterday morning, after we managed to drive 'em back to their camps. But a lot of soldiers were killed." The Colonel paused for a breath and looked at his reptilian friend sympathetically. "Then we got news of you coming from Whistler, and voila! Here you are. Didn't know you'd already know the General, though."

"How do you know the General?" Gwyn asked.

"Old friends," Doyle responded right away. "Used to work together." He made as if that was the gist of the story, but Cordelia would have none of it.

"We used to work together for the Powers. He used to get visions from them to give to our friend Angel… one of Earth's champions. A few months after we'd met…uhm… " she paused, "…well, he got killed. Or, we thought he got killed, which obviously he didn't, 'cuz…" She waved a hand up and down in front of Doyle, "…here he is. We'd thought he'd died…we were so sad. He sacrificed himself to save us all…"

Doyle coughed. "Well… per'aps we should get started on reorganizin' now, yah?"

The look in his eyes begged for no protest, and dutifully, the officers turned straight in their chairs. Cordelia shrugged and followed suit.

Doyle cleared his throat. "Well… we've obviously got a new officer to deal wid here…Cordy, we um…we actually started commissioning' soldiers to come down an' join a new regiment for you to take over…" his face screwed up a little at the thought. "Um… it should be ready after you've been trained fer field duty…"

"With all due respect sir, she's human, isn't she at risk for infection, or at least, getting mistaken for one of the enemy and shot at by our men?" Tauri asked, looking over at the small girl. He noticed her studying his wings with fascination, and tucked them closer towards his back.

"Actually, she is not completely human, at least, not according to my sensors" the robot-thing interrupted. All heads turned towards her again and she offered a weak smile.

She looked at Doyle, whose emerald eyes had doubled in size. "Cordy?"

She managed to appear sheepish and defiant all at once. "Yeah…well, after you…left… the Powers needed someone to get the visions…"

His jaw dropped. "Oh Princess, I'm so sorry…I didn't…"

She shook her head. "No, Doyle, it's okay. It was a good thing. I got to help Angel and…"

"But the visions were never meant fer 'umans…couldn't take 'em."

She nodded. "I know… the Powers wanted me to give up the visions…I was never meant to have them. But I couldn't…I guess I was afraid Angel wouldn't need me anymore, and they just…"

"Made you demon," he finished for her.

"Part," she corrected, smiling, trying to chase away the shadow that had crept onto his face, bathed it in dark. "And hey, no tail, so it's all good…" she turned towards the Lizard. "No offense."

"None," he responded.

"What kind of demon?" Doyle asked, almost afraid.

She frowned. "I'm not really sure. They didn't really tell me. I glow though."

Everyone turned towards the robot. "Kal?"

It stood up. "I will check my database, but I will require a small blood sample."

Doyle sighed, and looked toward Gwyn. "We might as well give 'er the complete physical while we're at it. Better way to assess 'er skills, I s'pose."

At his cue, everyone got up and filed out of the room. Cordelia stood up and looked in his direction, the appropriate expression of dread on her pretty features. _'Physical?'_ she mouthed in his direction.

Her managed a small smile and a shrug. "Welcome to my world, Princess."

_Whatever you do  
I'll do it too  
Show me everything and tell me how  
It all means something  
And yet nothing to me_

I can see there's so much to learn  
It's all so close and yet so far  
I see myself as people see me  
Oh, I just know there's something  
Bigger out there

I wanna know, can you show me  
I wanna know about these  
Strangers like me  
Tell me more, please show me  
Something's familiar about these strangers like me


	5. Part IV: Man With a Vision

**Part IV: A Man With A Vision**

_I am the son  
And the heir  
Of a shyness  
That is criminally vulgar  
I am the son  
And the heir  
Of nothing in particular_

You shut your mouth  
How can you say,  
I go about things the wrong way?  
I am human and I need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does

Saeryth leaned his chin against the knuckle of his hand and stared off into the flickering fires of the camp with a disgusted look, listening to the scraping and the cursing, the howl and whistle of his soldiers huddled around their bonfires and sprawled out in their tents to protect from the evening chill below him. They were animals, all of them, crawling around in their own filth, scrounging and fighting for scraps, for places, like they held importance in the grand scheme of things. They'd won a battle last night against the Protective Army, and like the fools that men were they truly believed that the world was theirs now. One battle in centuries of bitter warfare and the idiots believed it was done. He could smell them, cooking the meat of wild creatures from the woods on spits, dirty and raucous, chanting their exploits and lauding their great deeds.

It all made something churn indelicately inside him, and he turned away, turned around and stepped back into his General's tent and sat at his desk, where herb scented candles burned light into his eyes and where parchment and pen rested, ready for the deployment of orders, the reconfiguration of his corps in response to last night's casualties. He looked down at the paper, studied it a moment, before sniffing and turning away, towards his bed. He wanted to laugh, to hear tales of his legend told to him from the mouths of minstrels. He longed to kill something, draw his sword through its insides in a dance of death, to make its flesh fall away at his will to gather in neat, paper-thin slivers at his feet. He wished his men weren't animals. He wanted, wished, and longed for so many things, among them, something unique.

"General Saeryth, I have news…" The head of his assistant poked into the tent.

"You also have disgusting manners," Saeryth drawled, not bothering to look at the man. Instead, he lied down on the silken cushions, with his eyes staring straight up towards the canvass material of the tent.

"I bring word from the Supreme Command, sir."

A scoff in response. The Supreme Command indeed. Saeryth's army was the supreme command of the land, as far as he was concerned. Without him, without his men, the leaders lording over the humans' filth-encrusted cities would be helpless; the only other means of defense from the United Protective armies were situated on the opposite side of the valley. It consisted of an inane group of minor generals spread thin like the silken cobwebs of a frail spider across the borders of human territory.

"And what, of any possible importance, does the Supreme Command have to say now, Medth?"

The assistant bobbed his head up and down a few times in an act of pathetic deference. "General, they wish to commend you on yesterday's stunning victory."

"Stunning, was it? Not only did they manage to drive us back after a week of fighting, but I also have 5,000 dead and General Doyle's armies still have enough strength to send boarder patrols to engage in skirmishes with our hunting parties."

"Sources say that General Doyle lost more important players than we did, sir."

Saeryth chuckled. "Considering how worthless all my officers are, that's probably a safe bet, Medth." He paused, turning thoughtful. "I wonder how my old foe is dealing with that? I hear he's excessively empathetic…dangerous, if you ask me."

"Yes, General, most definitely dangerous. Which is why your apathy towards loss gained you a stunning victory the previous evening."

The poorly disguised brownnosing was wearing thin. If it kept up, Saeryth might very well have to kill the little man and grind his body into something to slop the hogs with. Instead of voicing such a thought, he sat up. "I suppose we should send the Supreme Commanders a response."

"It would be favorable, sir."

"Tell them we thank them for their commendation. Tell them the men… celebrate… as we speak."

"Yes, sir."

He waited until Medth left. "Tell them their men are disgusting, small-minded brutes with the initiative of skinned black'smhageth beasts," he muttered under his breath. Luckily for the human armies, they had him. Tomorrow morning, he'd call those docile creatures to a meeting and outline his plans for the next two days for them, hold their hands and tell them exactly what he wanted and when. He'd tell them in step-specific sequences what had to be done, what would win them the whole damn thing. What would land him a battle with his most arch nemesis, the only other competent being in a world full of idiots.

He spied a glassy flash in his peripheral vision, and with some delight, turned to look at a magnificent gold framed mirror beside the tent's entrance. He got up off of his cushions and strode over, studying himself in the exquisite glass. He observed the pale cleanliness of his face, the neat stiffness of his hair, the perfect mend and fit of his clothing, plain as they may have been.

Then, he thought then about his soldiers outside, fumbling around by firelight in tin cans, armor stolen off the back of Protective Army corpses, or beaten from pots and roughly shaped by the pressure of a sword rather than a hammer and anvil. He thought of their wild, unruly features, wide, blood rimmed animal eyes, their savage, chaotic mannerisms. Studying himself in the mirror, he saw himself in battle, a strange anomaly amongst his own kind, a smooth, fluid predator, calm and cool and deadly in his precision. He saw his own arrogance and reveled in it, his own innate savagery tempered by a rare agility, his wicked mind edged with something like emotion.

"Admiring yourself, my lord?"

He turned his head to the left smoothly, a dark brow quirked to form a high, perfect hook on his forehead. "Why do it myself when there are plenty who would do it for me?" he responded archly, allowing a smirk that showed his neat, perfect teeth.

The woman laughed. "Ah, darling, how you must fascinate yourself at the mirror," she drawled, sauntering into the tent like a wench. "So painfully different, you want to look at yourself until you can figure out why you were created out of synch with the rest of us."

He scowled at her even as she teased him (knowing his thoughts, wicked girl) and wrapped her arms around his waist without so much a flinch of fear, even as her head butted against his chest and the smell of blood and grave pyres wafted into his nose from sunshine colored hair. She laughed into the cords of his neck. "At least you don't stink, like the rest of them."

This elicited a low rumble of laughter from the depths of his throat, and he put her arms on her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "I have assignments to write, Breia, a big, ambitious plan to outline."

Her hands drifted to his hips. "Make your Colonels write them, you've enough to do tonight. As for plans…" her hands slipped under his shirt. "…I can think of more prodigious undertakings than anything you've got planned."

"Is that an offer, _Colonel_?"

She licked the underside of his jaw. "Well, I meant your other Colonels," she amended. "All they're doing is scrapping around like beasts for the fat of the meat. Leave them to their work, and me to mine."

He pulled back from her slightly. "If I left the assignments to those dolts they'd have traded the whole corps for a banana by morning simply because they like bright colors."

Her eyes sparkled and she let out a laugh, hands still dancing across the sinewy muscles of his stomach like butterflies. "They served you well enough last night. No matter what, you always find them incompetent, don't you, my lord?"

He shared a conspirational look with her, touched her cheek with callused fingertips. "They're weak, my dear. Stupid, without vision. They'd do whatever the idiots from the Supreme Command would ask them to without so much as a question why. The war would be lost in the time it took them to belch. They have none of my ambition, my drive."

"That may be, but they're fierce warriors, my lord."

"Only as fierce as a wild animal. Deadly yes, but just as stupid." He laid his forehead against hers. "Aren't you tired of always being called animals?"

"What else would you want from us? Man is an animal."

"Wrong again, wrong and short-sighted, my love. Man is king. Man can rule, if he'll let himself. We can be better than animals."

She ran the back of her fingers across his brow. "Always the visionary."

A wicked, purely maniacal passion lit behind his eyes, like fire. "Those are long term ideals, dearest. My immediate vision is to end this war… to attack the Protective Armies in their nests before they've had time to recover from their defeat last night. My vision is to take everything. To face Doyle…"

"All by yourself?"

His whole countenance blazed. "Of course! He's too worthy an opponent to fight any other way. I live and breathe for the opportunity to face him with no one else in the way. To say that I killed him, to take his weapons from his dead body and hang them in my home? To have his head for my trophy? What greater honor?."

She studied him, fireworks exploding behind his eyes as he spoke of some grand battle, in which the result would be the ignominious disembowelment of his most elusive, most worthy opponent. "And if he's as great a warrior as the men speak of? And if he overpowers even you? What then?"

He laughed, wickedly. "Then I'll die. But only by his hand, no other. I will subdue his armies, and I will fight him myself, to the death. Even if it would mean my own. But I would fight him!"

She shook her head. "You are a visionary and a fool. Your desire to be unique will be the death of you."

He smirked, infuriating and alluring all at once, as if she'd complimented him. "You'd rather I let the numbers overwhelm him? That I stay back in the shadows and watch his inevitable defeat from across the field like another great coward?"

"Your life would be ensured then, my lord. If it was done that way, he would surely lose. And you…" she pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "…would be left to more…pleasurable…ends."

He shook his head, realizing she was missing the point. "My dear Colonel… you haven't lived," he laughed. "You haven't lived until you've fought a battle where the outcome could never really be known ahead of time. The best fight is the one you believe you might lose."

"Like when your father battled Fessing on the field?"

He scowled at that. "My father had an archer positioned behind Fessing the entire time for insurance. He was a coward, always with backup, with something 'just-in-case'. I'm so tired of fights I know I'm going to win."

"So you look forward to your battle with Doyle because you might lose?"

His eyes simmered to blackness and he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning forward until their lips were a breath apart. His voice was a purely carnal whisper, almost against the very flesh of her mouth. "Now you're getting it."

_I am the son  
And the heir  
Of a shyness  
That is criminally vulgar  
I am the son  
And the heir  
Of nothing in particular_

You shut your mouth  
How can you say,  
I go about things the wrong way?  
I am human and I need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does


	6. Part V: Catching Up

**Part V: Catching Up**

_Someone told me, love would all save us  
But how can that be?  
Look what love gave us  
A world full of killing  
And blood spilling  
That world never came_

And they say that a hero can save us  
I'm not gonna stand here and wait  
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles  
Watch as they all fly away

Now that the world isn't ending  
It's love that I'm sending to you  
It isn't the love of a hero  
And that's why I fear it won't do

Cordelia grunted and blocked another shot at her head from Gwyn's quarterstaff. "I thought physicals were just like, shots and reflexes and height and stuff?!" she complained, dancing back to avoid a sweep aimed at her feet.

Doyle looked apologetic. "Sorta somethin' we 'ave to do…gauge your abilities an' stuff, Princ…er…Cordelia. 'Ey, Gwyn, ye ain't supposed to kill her."

Maj looked like he was ready to become delightfully irritating. "You know how competitive she can be. Probably have to pull her off before she forgets this isn't the real thing and goes in for the kill."

"Exactly what I needed ta hear right now, thanks, Maj."

"Pleasure, sir."

"Delia looks pretty good, though. Better than when I last saw her."

"We still talking about fighting form here, General?" Maj let his tongue roll out between his canines and tilted his head sideways. "Or some other type o' form?" 

Doyle, sufficiently irritated now, eyed his second in command. "Mind out of the gutter. Last I saw her, she couldn't fight worth a god damn. Now she's holdin' up pretty well against Gwyn…" He paused once Gwyn had knocked Cordelia's weapon from her hands. "All right ladies, that's enough." He put up a hand to stop them.

Cordelia, breathing heavily though (miraculously) her hair was still perfect, smiled at him. "How was that?"

A fond twinkle ignited in his eyes, a rarely seen phenomenon when concerning the General these days. "Not bad, Cord. Where'd ya learn to kick butt like that?"

"Angel and I …" she trailed off at the mention of the vampire's name, and decidedly sorrowful expression came to her countenance for a split second, though undetectable to those who didn't know her like Doyle did. "We uh, we did some training." 

"You okay, Delia?"

She shook off with a small back and forth motion of the head and looked back at him, all traces of thoughtful depression gone. "I'm good. I'm fine…we have a lot to catch up on, is all."

He nodded. "Time for that in the morning, I suppose."

"Yeah…" She straightened. "So… what's the diagnosis? Am I in fighting form?"

"Your form looks perfect to me, darlin'," Maj laughed.

Doyle ignored the wolf. "Well, we just need to see what Archimell says 'bout your physical health, an' give Kal some time to run 'is diagnosis on yer blood."

She squared her shoulders. "So, what next?"

"Well, we were gonna give you a rank for your command," Maj started.

For the first time, she looked properly distressed. "Rank, huh? Fuuun. Um, for the record, I totally look bad in cammo…"

She watched as her joke fell flat on its face, met with only a series of blank stares as response.

Doyle stepped in and saved her. "It's an earth thing," he explained, drawing her off to the side. "Whistler instructed us to make you an officer, which comes with a command, after a certain grace period, o' course…" he started with a small frown.

"Command? Like, army stuff?" Cordelia whispered at him, properly distressed. "I don't know all the signals or anything." She made a hasty, lopsided salute with her left hand. "That's the only one I know."

He chuckled a little. "Don' worry, Cordy. There's time for learnin', I can promise you that. I wouldn't let ya run out there half cocked. Might take a few months anyway."

She looked indignant at that. "I can handle myself! I didn't come here to wait months to do anything. I mean, I might not be so keen on all this military stuff, but I can help!"

He put his hands up in a gesture of unconditional surrender. "That I've no doubt, Princess, but til we know 'xactly what you're capable of at the moment, it's not worth the risk. Of you, or me men, okay? We'll see about gettin' you on the field soon as possible, but not before."

She softened a little at his entreaty. "I keep forgetting you have so much responsibility," she confided. "It must be so hard."

Something foreign flickered behind his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He didn't shake it off right away. "C'mon, I think it's time you gave me a tour of this place. It's huge. Wouldn't want me to get lost, would you?" she kindly changed the subject.

He took her offer of escape without hesitation. "No, no. Course not."

She took his arm and led them out. Maj smirked, wondering who was leading who.

~~~~~~~~

Some odd hours later, and the base was effectively shown off. The important parts, anyway. From what she could tell, it all looked like an ungodly mix between _Star Wars_ and _Gladiator_, technology and archaic ways blended together in an eclectic mess of heart monitors, pressurized automatic doors, electricity, thousand year old swords, unicorns, shamans, and chain mail armor. It made her head spin.

"So, this place is big…" Cordelia commented, deciding to stay away from the numerous decorating don'ts that could be found throughout the entire facility. _**That's right ladies and gentlemen, we have now mastered the art of tact. Next up, decorating for military bases, 101. For the deadly AND chic, learn how to keep those barracks looking Martha -Stewart-clean and just as dangerous.**_

Doyle's voice pulled her from her alternate reality contemplations. "Well, yah, it's the biggest military protection outpost this side o' the border," Doyle assured her. "Central Command of the whole effort, an' all. Naturally they'd give us the best facilities they can. We're all that's standing 'tween the human borders and our cities." He nodded lover the metal balcony towards the commons area down below. "And those, those are the men."

She looked over the railing at the groups of different species, a colorful mix of animal-like and human-hybrid creatures dressed in what must have been field uniforms, stained with the blood of enemies and friends. "They look tired," she said quietly, a quality of immense empathy in her voice he'd heard only rarely when they'd been together in LA. 

He regarded his soldiers. "War does that, I s'pose."

She turned to him suddenly, a flash of that old assertiveness he knew her for mixed with sympathetic undertones. "You look tired too, Doyle."

His gaze immediately went downward, a troubled frown on his face. "I'm okay," he muttered.

"Doyle…" She reached out for him. "Are you really?"

He shrugged her hand off for the first time. "I have to be."

She backed off slightly. "What's been happening?"

"I lost a good friend earlier today," he admitted. "We still…we're setting up for his funeral tonight after dinner."

"I'm so sorry…"

He gritted his teeth at the sound of her voice, the way she seemed to wrap up his entire hardship here into that one neatly packaged bow. The loss of a friend. But it was so much more. Something about the way she looked compelled him to tell her exactly what, though he didn't know why. His had been a private pain for a long time now. "That's not all that's wrong, Cord," Doyle began to rant, however quietly. "I lost thousands o' men last night. Each one o' those guys down there feels like I feel…they all lost someone too, an' it's all because of me. I'm so sick of this job sometimes…" He turned towards her, eyes so weary they looked ghostly. "Angel was supposed ta be the hero. Not me. When Whistler came, an' I thought someone else was comin' up…I was so relieved for a second…I was so happy." He turned his head sideways, shameful. "I thought it might be done with, fer me."

Her resolve grew at his quiet pleading to her, the heartfelt agony in his voice touching inside of her. Never was there a man more right for this job. "Say it had been someone to replace you, Doyle. Would you go back? Could you?" she asked, lowering her voice, gazing out across the floor to the soldiers eating, relaxing, healing below them. "Would you stop fighting and just go back to stand on the side if they let you?"

He took a shuddering breath. "I don't know," he answered truthfully.

"Angel went to the Oracles, you know," she started, leaning her elbows on the metal handrail. "He tried to get them to turn back time so he could save you. Because we needed you."

He looked surprised. "He did?"

She nodded. "It hurt so much for the longest time. We couldn't talk about it. It was easier to pretend it didn't happen, I guess. That you saved us all, that you had to…die…to do it. I watched you die for us, Doyle. Don't tell me you're not supposed to be a hero. I can't accept it."

His brow furrowed. "I didn't want to do it, not right off."

She regarded him curiously.

"But then I had that vision…and, it was right, I s'pose. Lemme tell ya…it's not easy, seein' yourself die, knowin' that in the future…" he trailed off before letting out a deep throated sigh. "To tell ya the truth, I was ready to run." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Some hero, huh?"

Her eyes widened. "You had a vision? You knew?!"

He blinked, confused for a moment, as if he'd drifted to some far off place and only just remembered where he truly was. "What?"

Her questions turned to accusation. "You had a vision! You knew!!!"

He balked. _**Whoops. Guess the oracles didn't tell them everything…**_

She smacked him in the shoulder, hard. "How could you do that and say nothing? How could you know and not tell us?!"

He stuttered. "It's complicated…"

She crossed her arms. "It can't be _that_ complicated. Tell me why."

He deflated and took a breath before launching into his explanation. "Whistler gave me a visit, the night before. Told me I 'ad a 'destiny'…" he spat the word. "…I thought 'e was just another crazy half-breed, thought he was off his rocker. Then he told me. Told me I wasn't needed in LA, that you'n Angel would get along without me. Told me they needed me somewhere else." He laughed. "I ignored him…brushed him off and went on with me business. Then… then, the second that I saw the weapon go off in the Quintessa… I figured it out, I guess. I figured that maybe it really would be okay. That the world, that you guys didn't need me after all, not as much as the world needed Angel. So I jumped. To my…destiny." His voice wavered a little bit. "You really missed me?"

"Doyle, don't even ask me that," she chided softly. "Angel and I…" she trialed off again. "Of course we did."

An odd light came to his eye. "You miss him, too."

There came a far away expression on her face, like she'd lost something before she'd ever really had a chance to hold on to it. "I do." She paused. "They…they never really let me say goodbye."

He stared off into the back wall with her. "They never really do."

An airy sigh. "Just when I thought I'd found him, too."

He turned towards her sharply at the sound of her voice, detecting the use of that underlying tone he could recognize in a heartbeat's passing. He'd lived using that tone in his voice the entire time he'd known her. "Delia?"

She caught herself too late, looked downward.

And that in itself was enough to tell him. Then, he knew. "You love him."

She had the grace to seem guilty at his statement.

He shook his head, not feeling either bitterness nor hurt at her non-verbal admission. "Ah, don't look like that, Delia."

"I'm sorry," she apologized after she'd had a second. "I never got to tell him, I didn't know how to tell you."

He shrugged one shoulder. "I guess I always sorta knew. Courageous 'earts and all. Like one o' those gothic romances. Leadin' man, leadin' lady. I always knew it'd really happen that way in the end. Was just foolin' myself otherwise."

She wanted to protest, to say that she'd thought it would turn out so very differently three years ago, that she'd seen him with her in the end, not Angel. But that had been an age long since past. "There's so much you don't know," she stated quietly. "So much has happened …" she trailed off into silence.

He could feel the dull ache inside of her, hear it in her tone. Hell, he had lived with his own brand of that pain for three long years, alone and tired. "I'm sorry you never got to tell 'im, Delia." He looked slightly bitter, for both of their plights. "I guess the 'heroes',"--he said the word mockingly, "don't get to love, yah?"

They stared out over the commons together.

_Someone told me, love would all save us  
But how can that be?  
Look what love gave us  
A world full of killing  
And blood spilling  
That world never came_

And they say that a hero can save us  
I'm not gonna stand here and wait  
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles  
Watch as they all fly away

Now that the world isn't ending  
It's love that I'm sending to you  
It isn't the love of a hero  
And that's why I fear it won't do


	7. Part VI: Follow the Leader

**Part VI: Follow the Leader**

_I'm feeling the hate of the world  
and it's crashing me  
I'm feeling the hate of everyday life  
And it's crushing me  
I swallow the hate, betrayal and lies  
Swallow it whole  
and shove it deep down inside of me_

I'm feeling the weight of the world  
and it's crushing me  
How much more will it take?  
How much more until it breaks me?  
This world is crushing me

The following morning, Doyle was awoken with by an abrupt knocking on his door. "Sir, the results are in," Tauri announced, peeking his head into the General's chambers.

Doyle yawned and stretched. "Already?"

The magnificent winged-man nodded. "Kal has found a match. He refuses to tell anyone the results until everyone is assembled to hear the announcement."

"Sure Taur. Gimme a few, and lemme go get Cordy." 

"Miss Chase is already awake and having breakfast in the kitchens. We will all be meeting in the Conference room in forty minutes," the Captain intoned, bowing his head slightly as he backed out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Doyle looked at the time piece on his wall. Not even 7 yet. "Well, guess the jury's back," he murmured under his breath, tossing off the covers to his bed and padding over to his closet.

~~~~~~~~~~

A good half hour later, Doyle was at his seat at the head of the conference table, eyeing Cordelia, who sat in anxious anticipation to his right. "You ready for this, Princess?"

She nodded. "Of course I'm ready…" she paused, looking toward the other end of the room, where Kal sat, looking inanimate, while they awaited the arrival of the stragglers. "So, what exactly is this robot guy's margin of error?"

Doyle laughed at her nervous question. "'e's not really a robot. Where 'e's from, the people transferred their consciousnesses to machines cause their planet couldn't support livin' beings after a time. 'e's really a real guy inside. As for 'is error, I've never known 'im to be wrong. Man's got an extensive demon database stored inside 'is body." 

"Weird," she responded. "So everyone has their own set of super powers."

"Not everyone," he disagreed. "Some of us are just, us."

She was about to respond to a certain skin condition of his that allowed for minor injuries like oh, _snapped necks_, but a loud buzzing suddenly began to scream into her ears, as the red lights mounted on the walls started to flash like police lights in time to the noises.

Doyle tensed instantly, head swiveling from side to side. "What the…"

A soldier burst into the room and then stopped short, straight as a board as his hand flashed up to his head for a perfect salute. Doyle returned it perfunctorily. "Sir!! Saeryth's armies have been spotted by our scouts; they're headed full strength towards the front lines!" the messenger reported.

There came a frozen look to Doyle's countenance, as if someone had taken a freeze frame of his reaction to the news, blown it up, and super glued it to his face. "He can't…we just…" Cordelia recognized his sudden inability to form coherent sentences as a bad thing.

And then like that, the surprise, the uncertainty of the Doyle she knew was gone. Something washed over him in those two seconds in which she'd been pondering exactly what the _hell_ was going on, something strange. His jaw clenched; she saw the barely perceptible twitch of muscle in his cheek in what looked like something reminiscent of Angel's expression of resolve dropping like a final curtain over him. But it seemed colder, impartial, as if an iron wall had just slammed down and he had to hide everything he was in real life behind it until the danger had passed.

Doyle took a breath. "All right, Private. Arrange a transport to the battlefield, we'll meet the bastards 'alf way… before they cross the borders. Order the troops out on patrol to prepare for battle an' call my officers to the conference room ASAP."

"Sir, yes sir." The Private saluted again and spun around like a machine, before stomping down the hall to respond to his orders.

The other officers present in the meeting room were silent and grim, regarding Doyle as to what would happen next. Cordelia was in a tizzy of confusion. "Doyle? What's going on?"

"Saeryth… the leader o' the humans… bastard's tryin' ta jump us before we recover from last night, is what. If we don't get reinforcements out there our first lines are gonna get trampled an' he's gonna lay siege to the whole encampment."

"What can we do?"

"We're gonna assemble those that can ta fight. I'm gonna send out an alert to the cities an' the other command posts so they know what's goin' on. We'll 'ave a quick meeting an' get out there to drive 'em back."

She was about to ask another question, but he turned his swivel chair to face straight ahead instead of slightly at her, as it had been until present, so that he may address his officers. "Looks like they're tryin' ta hit us before we can recover properly from the other day." A few of the soldiers nodded in assent to their leader's diagnosis.

Cordy's brow furrowed. _**Wait! We still don't know what I am.**_

"Where the heck is Maj?" Doyle asked, irritated, after a second.

"Technically, the meeting was assigned to discern officer Chase's origins," Kal explained. "And for that set meeting time, the Colonel still has two minutes…"

The double doors leading to the conference room burst open for the second time that morning, Maj at dead sprint full in, having to skid to stop from colliding with the General's chair as he did. "I'm here! I'm here!" he announced, however unneeded, a little short for breath. "I was finishing breakfast. Now what the hell is going on?"

~~~~~~~

"Sir, we're almost through the front lines!" Medth reported in a shout, to be heard over the din below.

Saeryth, standing around a table with some of his officers, waved the messenger off. "Very good. Alert me as to when General Doyle and his entourage arrives?"

"Yes, sir."

He turned back to the map. "We'll break through. Breia, I want you to take your division and circle around towards the back of the complex once we do. You, and you…" he indicated to two other colonels. "I want you two on either side. My corps will be at the front. We'll lay siege to Doyle's post, and the creatures' entire domain will be open for invasion."

"But sir, they're bound to receive aide from the surrounding commands, how are we to prepare for that?"

"I have instructed my auxiliary divisions to form a wide perimeter around our attack to fend off any of the smaller forces that might be deployed to aide Doyle," Saeryth responded, irritated at his subordinate's stupidity. Did the man really think he hadn't thought this through, that he didn't have every aspect planned to perfection? _**Ignoramus. **_ "We all know that once Doyle's command falls the entire spine of the protective army falls with it, don't we?" he asked, searching his underlings in a frighteningly calculative manner.

"Yes sir," they all responded instantly.

"Good. If we surround Doyle's command, starve them out, kill them all, our entire army will be able to march on towards the cities, conquer the animals living in them, and finally end this ridiculous little war."

Breia kept her mouth shut over the true significance of victory, should they achieve it. The slaves they would take, the prime land, the innovations of the creatures to add to their own technology. Saeryth always thought the effort was a silly little war. She was convinced that if he had in fact been disallowed from killing anything he wouldn't have joined the armies in the first place, even if it had been his ancestor who had first rallied the humans to battle.

"Sir! Additional divisions on the creatures' side have been deployed, but Doyle has not yet arrived. Should we allow for the new arrivals to join the lines or cut them off?"

"Medth, if you were smart, would I really need to answer that question for you?"

"Yes sir, excuse me sir." The aide scurried out of the tent.

"All right then. It seems the plan has begun. Is there anything else that should come to my attention?"

"Reports say that a new officer arrived under Doyle's command today," Breia observed.

"Well, that's a given, considering the death of Lieutenant Aurelin," he drawled.

"My sources say it was an inter-dimensional officer, my lord," she explained, bowing her head slightly, though a mischievous look glinted in her eye. He caught it and sent a disapproving rejoinder her way.

"Is that so? Well, I'd take the time to be intimidated, but I find that my emotions are strangely all trained on you, Colonel, and how irritating your little tangent just was. New officer or not, they all die the same way."

"By your brilliant strategy, of course," she allowed, showing the appropriate submission to curb the General's agitation.

"We'll save the subservience for later, Breia, get back to your regiments. If I desire anything I'll send a messenger." He turned to address them all. "Dismissed."

They saluted, by touching their fingertips to their foreheads and bowing their heads before exiting.

Saeryth watched them leave before sitting down in his chair to listen to the sounds of battle, the sounds of the dying. He laughed a little to himself before grabbing his sword off of the table and unsheathing it. He drew his thumb across the blade, regarding its shine in the dim lighting of his quarters for a moment. Perhaps today he would get the fight he desired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We've got a full frontal, boys," Tauri announced. "We've already sent a few thousand uninjured; they should be reaching the field before too long."

"Good," Doyle nodded. "Before we get out there I just want ta say a few things…"

"Sir? I wish to say something as well…" Kal started, putting his hand up in the air. "…about Miss Chase."

Doyle closed his eyes and took a breath. "Kal, I know yer excited 'bout findin' out so fast, but could we wait till the possibility o' dyin' is out fer a bit?"

The robot would not be stopped. "Sir, I think it is important."

"Kal, not now, okay? We need ta map out a basic strategy 'ere…"

"Sir, I believe it is of great importance."

Doyle sighed. "Fine, fine, Sergeant. If you think it's that important, by all means, ferget the battle an' let us know," he drawled, irritably.

The cyborg stood up, accepted the invitation to speak despite the sarcasm that had laced it. "I have assessed Miss Chase's blood sample and I believe I have been able to identify the demon blood within her."

Cordelia, despite agreeing to the non-priority of her condition at the present moment, was riveted.

"I have concluded that she has been infused with the blood of the Tharrier." He looked around the room after having made his announcement.

Everyone deflated at the anticlimactic nature of his great find.

"And that means what, exactly?" Gwyn prodded.

The robot let out a very human sigh, as if dealing with the ignorance of carbon based life forms was a trial in itself. "Tharrier demons are a rare and very beautiful breed of demon that reside in a heaven dimension not far from this one. They are explicit servants to the powers of goodness. The blood of the Tharrier is said to cleanse darkness from within a soul."

There was an intake of breath on Doyle's part.

Kal kept going. "However good Tharrier blood is, the demons themselves are quite weak, to offset their great power. Their life force is frail, and thus expending too much of their abilities is fatal to their kind."

Doyle looked at Cordelia, wide eyed, before turning back to Kalgear. "Are you sayin' what I think yer sayin', Sergeant?"

A miniscule nod. "The life force of a human, in contrast with that of Tharrier is greatly enhanced. Humans have a strong, durable inner energy. I believe that we have been given the very weapon in which to end the war, General. Miss Chase was sent here to cleanse the humans of their dark nature." Finished, the robot sat down.

Doyle gaped a moment longer, while trying to regain his bearings. "So you just told me that Cordy 'ere is gonna end the war by washin' all the evil outta the humans? Just like that?"

Kal nodded.

"Wait a minute 'ere. If it was that simple, why didn't the Powers just send a whole buncha Tharrier 'ere two hundred years ago an' have it end right there?"

"As I said before, General, the life force of a Tharrier is quite weak. Also, they are quite rare. It is highly unlikely that the Powers would find it necessary to sacrifice the few that they could to end a war here. It is also unlikely that the Tharrier would have been able to cleanse the entirety of the human army in their complete demon state."

"So they send us one Cordelia instead?" Doyle responded, skeptical.

"Sir, the human life energy is significantly greater than that of the Tharrier in its purest state."

"I got that," Doyle insisted. "What I don't get is why they didn't do it sooner then, if it was that easy?"

Cordelia sat up. "Skip told me, before I got here, that they gave me this power as a test. And when he came to get me, he said I could ascent because I hadn't been corrupted by it. You think that may be it?"

"They had to wait and find the person who'd use the Tharrier power the right way," Maj explained, picking up on Cordelia's idea. "And they found you." He laughed. "Well damn…looks like you're the one that's supposed to save us all!!"

There was a general murmur amongst the officers. Doyle on the other hand, was completely silent. "No," he muttered. "Those bastards."

"Sir? What's wrong?" Gwyn asked. "We've just found a way to end the war."

Doyle clenched his teeth. "You know how many humans are on this planet, Gwyn? 'Bout 2 million, probably more. Even if a human life force is greater'n a Tharrier by a hundred fold, you think it'll last fer that many people? She'll use all o' herself up to fix 'em. She'll die. Drained away fer the damn greater good. An' what if we miss one? A few? What if those few build up again, an' in another hundred years or so, the whole damn cycle repeats it self?" He looked over towards Cordelia. "I don't like those odds. Not fer the wager that's on the line."

Cordelia's eyes softened at his concern. "Doyle, I'm here to help. If that's what's supposed to happen, then let it." She had long been preparing for her death, before the Powers had intervened; she had come to terms with herself and her purpose in life a long time ago.

Something furious leapt into his face, a pure form of outright rage she'd never seen in him before. "Cordelia, you can't possibly…"

She flared in response to his tone. "Oh don't even!" she contested hotly. "You get to die to save us, but I don't get to for a reason just as good? Listen here, Mister I'm-A-Big-Irish-Hypocrite! I'm here to do a job. And dying in our line of work is a constant risk _anyway_, so why are you getting all touchy? I thought you had to take risks to go into war, don't you?! The Powers sent me here to help, and that's what I'm going to do, even if I have to go stand out in the middle of the stupid battlefield and glow until I explode. You don't know _exactly_ how much I'm capable of handling; no one here knows exactly how many people I can help! And I have to help! Why else are we here? What else would a whole bunch of men and a friend of yours die for last night?"

"She has a point," Maj started, but was silenced by the look of death from his General.

There was a cough. "As interesting as watching you two hash out this debate might be, we're sort of in the middle of a battle," Gwyn reminded everyone.

Doyle scowled, throwing Cordelia a pointed look that said none of this was as finished as she'd like it to be. He hated this. Hated the possibilities of more death and more heartache and so much pointlessness. Mostly, he hated Saeryth. But it -all of it- was his job. He took a deep breath. "Right. Let's get goin' then. We'll discuss this when I get back, Cord."

She flared again. "What do you mean when _YOU_ get back?"

He looked incredulous. "Didn't we just talk about this? You're stayin' here 'til you can be properly trained to fight!"

She crossed her arms. "Things have changed since then. We know why I'm here now. I wasn't meant to get a command, or, or to be in charge of a bunch of soldiers. I was sent to fix things."

He scowled. "We don't know that for sure yet."

"I'm coming and that's final."

Doyle let out a long suffering sigh.

_I'm feeling the hate of the world  
and it's crashing me  
I'm feeling the hate of everyday life  
And it's crushing me  
I swallow the hate, betrayal and lies  
Swallow it whole  
and shove it deep down inside of me_

I'm feeling the weight of the world  
and it's crushing me  
How much more will it take?  
How much more until it breaks me?  
This world is crushing me


	8. Part VII: Soldier

**Part VII: Soldier**

_Sound the bugle now  
Play it just for me  
As the seasons change  
I remember how I used to be  
Now I can't go on  
I can't even start  
I got nothing left  
Just an empty heart_

I'm a soldier  
Wounded so I must give up the fight  
There's nothing more for me  
Lead me away  
Or leave me lying here

Sound the bugle now  
Tell them I don't care  
There's not a road I know  
That leads to anywhere  
Without a light I feel that I will stumble in the dark  
Lay right down on the side  
Not to go on

"Sir, the men on the field report the arrival of General Doyle and his company!"

"Thank you, Medth," Saeryth said in an annoyed tone. He really didn't understand why that little worm always found the need to yell these things when he was standing less than three feet away. 

He got up off his chair in one fluid movement, stretching the muscles of his neck and arching like a cat. He slammed his palm down toward the hilt of his sword, which had been lying on the table with the base hanging off the edge, and it flipped up into a neat spin. He plucked it out of the air and swung it once, listening to it whistle in the air just to the left of his ear, cutting through time and space in a flash of reflective light. He smirked to himself and easily dropped it into the sheath strapped across his back. Beginning to whistle as he strolled out of his tent, he found his aide outside, standing with the reigns of his horse clasped tightly in his hands. The gray stallion danced from foot to foot with anticipation at the approach of its rider, showing Saeryth genuine affection, the only creature on both sides of the war that enjoyed the General's company. He snatched the reins from Medth with a disdainful look at the man's direction and mounted up. Without a backwards glance, he broke off at a gallop towards the battlefields in the distance. Doyle was waiting, after all. 

~~~~~~~~~

Doyle looked at Maj, before dropping his fierce black warhorse back a handful of paces to match the stride of his Colonel, who trotted alongside on foot. "I'm directin' my corps to the front an' center, Maj. I want you ta take Cordelia an' keep an eye on her, you hear me, man? It's too dangerous fer her to stay wit' me. Not with Saeryth gunnin' fer me the way 'e is," Doyle ordered, still a little sore at Cordy's refusal to stay behind at the camp at his request.

"Aye, sir."

"Keep her safe, keep her back, okay?" the General reiterated. "She's too green to be out there… damn her stubbornness. An' make sure she doesn't try any of her demon powers, not yet anyway. We need to be sure first." 

Maj threw a look over his shoulder, where Cordelia rode at a brisk clip alongside Kal, discussing one thing or another, probably the aspects of her newly identified demonic nature. She seemed rather chipper, if anything. He frowned and turned back to face the road ahead, as they moved at a brisk pace towards the battlefield. 

The distant sound of fighting could be heard, the occasional roar of a cannon, the screams of the dying all mixed into a strange symphony of pain and suffering. Something in Doyle hoped that it was the humans being burnt alive, being hacked apart and blown apart by his own men, that they were suffering for their crimes, that they would experience the most painful deaths possible. It was like his own personal vengeance, playing in his mind, the thought of hands that might have killed Aun, that killed Fessing, and could kill Cordelia in the future, would be rendered useless, a lifeless pile of ash. 

Not that he relished death, no, not like Saeryth. In fact he hated this fighting, this constant struggle for what was right, for what the Powers wanted. It made his skin itch on the inside, to think that people had "earned" a spot in this hellhole, that for all their goodness in their own worlds, they should be rewarded with this, this pit of dead and dying, murder and mayhem. He had been rewarded with this, this infection within his blood that broadened day after day with every consolation letter he wrote, with every funeral he attended, with every mechanized speech he was required to give. It spread like virus in his veins with every life that he took, even more so as it wore on, and he began to care less about the faces, the eyes, the pleas. He knew it was wrong. He hated it. 

He'd fought and killed the general that had downed Fessing in the first year of his command, had sliced the man's head clean off his shoulders. He could remember the wet feel of disconnected flesh and viscera splattering him in the face as his blade cut through the thick column of neck, and all he'd been able to think about was seeing his General go down in similar fashion, to this man's smirking countenance. He hated killing, hated the stupidity of it all, but for some reason, that one day, the feel of Saeryth's father's body under his boot was satisfying. He'd been at his fighting best that day, furious at cutting words thrown at him by his opponent, angry with all the death and the nonsense of it all. He tried to work himself into a similar feeling now, tried to get in touch with the Doyle of that day two and a half years past, to ignite that deadly ability he knew to be within him. He thought of Aun. _**We haven't even buried 'im yet…**_

"General Doyle, sir! We are holding them, but there is a breach in the southernmost point of the line!"

Doyle snapped attention as a soldier on foot stopped in front of his steed, arm still in high salute. He returned the gesture hastily. "All right then, reinforce…" he turned to look over his shoulder. "Kal, get out there." He blinked when he realized he was alone. The others must have already broken off. Shaking his head, he rode forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh God."

Maj looked over at Cordelia. "Don't think he can hear you, sweetheart." 

She shook her head, looked over the ledge to where armies clashed below, fierce fighting punctuated by screams and roars, explosions of flame. "There are so many bodies."

"There always are." Maj took a breath. I'm goin' in, darlin'. Cuz I can't stand bein' the passive superior officer, sit back like I'm playing a game of chess and I'm perfectly safe. But Doyle wanted me to keep you back." 

Her eyes narrowed. "Why? I'm here to help…I can…"

"I know, I know," Maj agreed. "But look, he's lost a lot in these past few years, okay? And I just figured it out; don't want to throw it all away."

"Figured what out?"

"You're the girl."

"The girl?" 

"The one he was miserable for leaving back home. There's always one of those. And now you're here, which is probably worse for him, because frankly, it sucks to be here." He smirked a little at that. "So I'm going to keep you back. For him. And hey, even when Doyle first came here, we kept him back the first few battles, so fair's fair. Okay?"

She looked over the top of the hill, down at the clashing lines. "Okay."

"Good. Cuz I know Doyle needs you, especially now." 

She looked at him. "He seems so sad."

The wolf nodded. "He's a man at war with himself, sweetheart. That's the price when you care as much as he does. It turns you inside out. You hate the killing, the maiming, but you hate the enemy more. You find yourself wanting them dead or suffering more and more, even if you know it's wrong. You try to tell yourself you're still good inside, even when you've got your weapon six inches deep in another man's chest…" He seemed to go off into himself, pensive and painful in tone of voice. He shook himself suddenly, back to reality, back to the battlefield. "Right. I'm going now." Without waiting for her response, Maj scanned her over with his eyes once more before pounding down the hill, transforming before he rounded the slope. A fearsome howl pierced the air around them, and the conversational Colonel was suddenly a wolf the size of a small horse, sprinting the entire quarter mile down the ravine and leaping into the fray, hair long and wild, paws and fangs abnormally long, especially cutting. 

She watched him a while, how he'd gone from a sweet, jovial character to a snarling mass of furious animal startled her a bit. Perhaps what Maj had said about Doyle really applied to everyone, to the war within themselves between their true natures and what had to be done, between their natural penchant for kindness and the need to kill for survival in the furies of war. She turned her head away when he attached himself to a man's jugular, bit through the neck until all that was left for the head to dangle on was a string of stubborn muscle-flesh. He shook it between his three inch long fangs to loosen it before he tossed the body away like a bedraggled chew toy, human blood staining his teeth like cherry Kool-Aid. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm going to the front," Saeryth informed one of the lower officers beside him. 

"Sir…but…"

"I killed a man once, just to watch him bleed, Private. Don't tempt me."

The protest was cut short, as the soldier gave a small bow of acquiescence. "Yes, sir." 

He pushed his horse forward at a ground eating gallop, away from the protective phalanx that had surrounded him upon his arrival on the field. He drew his sword as he went, jovially hacking off heads left and right, aiming mostly for the enemy, sometimes catching one of his own men just because he found it pointless to waste the time and energy to discriminate. 

He reached the front lines easily enough, laughed and shouted his men on as they tried to push through the enemy lines, sitting up high on his mount like a king surveying his slaves, sword drawn and dripping sticky blood down the length of his arm.

He craned his neck in search of Doyle, and errantly plucked an arrow out of the air aimed at his heart by one of the opposing archers as he did. Reaching down, he found an enemy soldier standing over one of his men, ready to kill the man, and forcibly stabbed the point into the back of the demon soldier's skull, hard enough that all that was visible when he was through was the bottom half of the arrow's shaft. The creature wailed and fell down clutching at its head, trying to keep gray matter from leaking out of the cavernous hole and into its hands. The human soldier it had been about to kill looked up gratefully at Saeryth, got up and turned to the General with large, liquid eyes full of adoration, ready to pledge his life and love forever to his leader for rescuing him, lowly infantry, so valiantly. Saving himself the trouble, Sareyth swiftly decapitated him with his sword and continued to push forward, into a small, open circle in the field, surrounded on all sides by fierce battle. The last thing he needed was a fan. 

He trotted out into the open, to wait patiently. He knew he was coming, knew his foe well enough, believed in fate and destiny to the degree that he thought they were created solely by force of will, by sheer desire, and consequently, could know that Doyle would meet him at this very spot, soon, by his own intense wish for him to do so. 

As he sat astride his gray, he alternated between cutting down the occasional soldier within sword's length, whispering conversation to his horse, whose name was King, and imagining how General Doyle's severed head would serve as the centerpiece on his mantle back at his house if it was preserved and garnished properly. 

A moment later, his head shot up. "Yes."

~~~~~~~~

Doyle closed his eyes and stabbed downward, tried to lose the death wail of his opponent into the plethora of surrounding ones, hoping he could pitch it into a wall of anonymity with the rest of them, as if it hadn't been by his hand but rather, more background noise. He was in full demon mask now, green and fearsome on his horse, covered in the blood of enemies that was drying in the heat into powder on his thin armor. He'd done so much of this, couldn't count the numbers of men he'd killed and rode past, dead before their bodies could hit the ground, just as insignificant as the one before it that had died the exact same way. 

It all added up in the end, he supposed, the numbers of slain on the personal balance of your karma weighing down everything you thought was good in the world. Funny how in one world he'd been used by a greater power to save humans, and in doing so, tried to touch the humanity living within himself so that he might forget the demon aspects there as well. In this place on the other hand, he rode in all his morbid, inhuman glory, covered in spikes, red eyed and dangerous, every day losing a little more of that humanity he'd once cherished as he slew his fellow man left and right, all the while parading in the mask of a monster.

He tried to tell himself he was nothing like Saeryth.

He felt someone's eyes on him just as that thought sparked like igniting coal in his mind, and he looked upward into the field. He took a breath when he saw the very man of his thoughts sitting astride a familiar, massive gray warhorse, looking for all the world as if he were there to meet a bowling buddy rather than to fight a war, almost oblivious to everything around him except for Doyle's approach. Sliding into his human countenance, Doyle urged his mount forward, and the General of the Protective Armies couldn't help but wonder if staring across the field at Saeryth was like looking into a mirror, reflecting back from one side to the other the very similarities that were so obvious despite the differences.

~~~~~~~~

Up on the ledge of a jagged hill, Cordelia began to panic when she lost sight of Maj in the mass of bodies down below. He should have been so easy to discern, a giant dog raising hell with claw and fang, ripping enemies between both with an occasional heavenward howl. But he was lost suddenly, just another soldier who could die, could be dying, could be killing on the field. She squinted out, tried to find him. Could he be in trouble? Could he be at the mercy of the enemy? The look on Doyle's face as he'd described the death of his friend flashed in her mind, the absolute unguarded broken quality it had had there before her, naked and in pain, only to be replaced by a certain type of hardness around the edges, a certain cold emptiness and bottled emotion that scared her more than his brokenness might ever. She imagined his face then, looking over the body of his second in command, imagined how that crack in his armor might expand at having Maj die, how that coldness might consume him so that he might, ironically, do as Angel had given Darla's return, and stop caring about everything altogether. The possibility of Doyle as cold and unfeeling had the same appeal as Xander Harris in a grass skirt and coconut bra doing the hula while playing a ukulele and singing "Hawaii Ponoi" at the top of his lungs.

She urged her horse forward one or two paces, subconsciously thanking Daddy Chase for those country club riding lessons back in Hellmouth, USA. _**Where is he?**_

Something flashed behind her eyelids like a warning signal. Suddenly before her, the image of Maj appeared in real-time motion, and she watched him take a running leap forward, powerful legs springing him up ten foot in the air towards a man aiming a spear at someone out of her immediate line of sight. The wolf landed between the would-be victim and the human with a fierce snarl, greatly dramatized by the length of his shadow, stretched across the parched land in light of the late morning sun hovering like his own personal spotlight behind him. The spearman tensed and Maj sprung forward, a shaggy silver bullet, knocking the soldier's spear from his hand and slitting his throat with one efficient (if thoroughly disturbing) swipe of a paw. However, as he watched the shudder and death of the human beneath him, he failed to the shadowed silhouette of a woman rise up on horseback behind him, sword descending in a glinting arc for the wolf Colonel's tree trunk neck… 

"NO!" she screamed, as the vision blacked out around her, returning to reality in a jump reminiscent of a television special effects time-warp. She blinked, could taste the death lingering on her tongue as surely as she'd seen it. "Oh that is it," she muttered, urging the horse forward, drawing the sword Doyle had given her before they'd left the base. Forgetting Maj's words of caution, she flung herself fully towards the fighting.

~~~~~~~

Doyle stopped his horse, which was nameless (another thing he refused to get close to because of the omnipresent prospect of death…), across from Saeryth's. He narrowed his eyes, sword clasped tightly in his right hand, wondering why his approach towards the other man had been relatively unhindered. _**Bastard probably has orders fer every one 'o his men to leave me be.**_

"General Doyle! Lovely day for a bloodbath, isn't it?" Saeryth shouted over the distance. He sounded so amused one would think it was all a really elaborate chess game and not a centuries old battle consuming the entire planet. Like it was just for his entertainment.

Doyle sneered in return, and slipped into his human face. "Don't you think this is a little sick, even fer you, Saeryth? I mean, the bodies o' your men aren't even cool from the other day an' you 'ave us fightin' atop 'em before they've even got a chance to return to the soil."

"You insult me, General. I didn't want to waste their prospective use as decorations for today's festivities." He placed the hilt of his sword in front of his face and bowed his head in some mock gesture of reverence for authority. "What's a war without the stench of carrion?"

"Are we going to fight, or are ya going to keep yappin' on 'bout corpses?"

The human smirked. "Fight, most definitely. We can resume being colloquial about corpses once you've become one."

They both raised their swords.

~~~~~~~~~

"Maj!!!" 

He spun around in the middle of a particularly clean kill, wide eyed and bewildered. "What the damn?"

She was riding towards him! Why the hell was she riding towards him? He growled and fought his way towards her, watched as one of Breia's captains aimed his spear towards her, ready to take her right off of her mount as she rode foolishly into the middle of the field.

Annoyed, whether at Cordelia's willful nature or the human he wasn't sure, he knew he had to react fast if he was to save her, and took a running leap forward, impressively high over the heads of several men. He landed an equal distance between the human girl and her prospective attacker and spun at the spearman with a snarl. One more shallow leap forward and he knocked the man's weapon from his hand and slashed him across the throat in one quick, energy efficient swipe. The man's hands went to clutch at his throat as he fell to the ground, trying in vain to keep his lifeblood within his shredded artery rather than allow it to leak into a viscous puddle atop the dirt. Seeing that his opponent was on well on the road to death, and unrepentant of how painful a way it was to go, Maj spun around, furious, to face Cordelia. "What the hell do you think you're…"

He had a feeling the sudden widening of her eyes had nothing to do with his anger towards her impudence.

"NO!!" she screamed, extending her hand in front of her, as if somehow, that would save his life. _**Stupid, stupid Cordy! You just made your vision come true!!! Pay attention!**_

Maj began to turn around, eyes widening slightly at the silhouette of a woman on horseback with a sword trained on him. He made to collapse and roll from the broadsword's range, but even then there was the matter of allowing his synapses to communicate the information of his wishes from brain to body. Part of him knew it would be too late.

And then there was a bright flash, accompanied by feeling of momentary weightlessness, as if he were suspended in dish washing liquid, before he fell, and the world, the sounds of fury and battle, the sounds of death and dying faded to black.

_Sound the bugle now  
Play it just for me  
As the seasons change  
I remember how I used to be  
Now I can't go on  
I can't even start  
I got nothing left  
Just an empty heart_

I'm a soldier  
Wounded so I must give up the fight  
There's nothing more for me  
Lead me away  
Or leave me lying here

Sound the bugle now  
Tell them I don't care  
There's not a road I know  
That leads to anywhere  
Without a light I feel that I will stumble in the dark  
Lay right down on the side  
Not to go on


	9. Part VIII: War, What is it Good For?

**Part VIII: War, What is it Good For?**

_All good soldiers crack like boulders   
The sun climbs up to a razon, violins, new boots,   
And numbers on a chain   
All good soldiers   
All good soldiers fall in line   
When they march and shout_

Are a spectacle marching and singing-  
Will go anywhere the president says-   
Because the president believes in God-  
Like all good soldiers wait like warheads-   
When the fighting starts who will be accountable, a cannibal, a cannonball

Their horses danced around each other like hummingbirds, flitting from side to side as their swords clashed above heads, passing each other, circling, slashing, trying to find some advantage over the other as hours like minutes sped by. 

Doyle reined his horse around, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat from the sweltering noonday sun, to look at Saeryth. He was sporting a neat slash in his upper arm, the dull pain of which fueled his irritation. Red blood dripped down between the plates of his armor, dulling the metal luster as it formed a sticky puddle on his thigh. The human looked back at him with a slightly disappointed expression. "Ah General, you seem preoccupied. Have you come to terms with your inevitable defeat, or is your saddle just chaffing?" 

Doyle scowled, touched the blood on his arm and ground it dry between his fingers. "You never shut up, do you Saer? I bet I could cut of yer head an' its lips'd still be movin' fer days after it was disconnected from your body. Why don't we find out?" 

Saeryth smirked in triumph. "There you are. About time some fire was lit underneath you, General. I was beginning to think my victory was going to be extremely one-sided if you didn't liven up a little."

Doyle glowered, kicked his horse to circle around his opponent. "What makes you so confident, boyo? Think I can't run you through like your rotten da? Think I won't suspect the archer this time, like last?"

Saeryth managed to seem insulted. "General, you wound me," he protested. "I have no intention of letting someone else kill you. As for that fight with my father, it was extremely fortunate for the both of us that your reflexes are so good, don't you agree?"

"You wantin' to take me's gotta be the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Saer. Like your givin' me a get out o' jail free card throughout the whole damn field. Ain't the same on this side, ya know." There was suspicious light of maliciousness in Doyle's eye now. "I gave my men instructions ta take you down the moment they lay eyes on you. I don't care who kills ya, long as you die."

Saeryth laughed and saluted by touching the hilt of his sword to his head, like the tip of a hat. "I wouldn't have it any other way, General. But no one will kill you but me." 

Without further comment, he smiled prettily at Doyle and spurred his steed forward, quite ready to face whatever his adversary saw fit to throw at him. A similar spark could be seen in the demon leader's eyes, though from within it Saeryth detected fury rather than jubilation. But the spark was enough. What joy! 

~~~~~~~~~~

Breia had to shield her eyes with her arm when the flash had first hit, something impossibly bright, incandescent and heavenly in the middle of her very own battlefield. She closed them then, to protect from the sting of brightness as it grew more so, even as she knew her men were similarly being enveloped by its strange rays. She could hear the sounds of fighting die out to an eerie silence as the contenders ceased moving altogether, dropping weapons as they stood mesmerized by the fluorescent aura embracing them, as their movements were forced still at the feeling of increased dizziness that saw fit to overtake them. There was a clatter as several hundred men fell to their knees.

She had been ready to destroy Maj, who had been laying waste to her men as wild animals were wont to do. She had been ready to decapitate her own greatest foe while he had been distracted with no small amount of relish, much as Saeryth now sought his own arch nemesis. And then this strange light appeared, as if it had come out of nowhere just to embrace her, a warm buzzing sound of reassurance in her ear. The need to kill suddenly dulled inside her, her hatred of that blasted wolf played second fiddle to whatever it was she was experiencing. She swayed on her horse, dropped her sword mid-arc.

It felt as if something was gently settling into her bones, probing little hooks into her psyche as it usurped everything inside of her that had been previously so well established, shook her from the very foundations of her being so that it could find suitable purchase within her forever. And then the unsettling feeling of it all was suddenly replaced by a riptide of strange emotion, washed through her and left her feeling caught between absolute nausea and elation. 

Then it was gone, a brief reprove, leaving her vision behind her closed eyelids more fuzzy than black. She swayed, moaned, and clutched one hand at her head, the other coiled tightly around the reigns of her steed to keep from falling. Embarrassing indeed would it be for the officer who could not stay astride her mount… the exceedingly vain thought flashed out of her head as quickly as it had appeared, which seemed rather odd… 

Another lurch, another rolling wave shook her thoughts back to jumbled, and she clenched her teeth. It was as if the very apocalypse itself had come and she was on the scales of judgment, character being weighed and measured…

And then it was gone once more, one final time… the unnatural brightness, the floodtide of strange emotion… she forced her eyes open, squinted at the plainness of day before her, shut them again. She felt…clean. She opened her eyes again, was startled by the abrupt silence of the field. Had there not been a battle moments before? She shook her head, trying to remember specifics. Maj! She had been… she frowned to herself as her memory began reworking itself. She had wanted to kill Maj. She looked downward to where he had been moments before, only to see him lying prostrate at her feet, having stumbled at the strange turn of events, rolling to avoid her blow and glancing his temple quite sharply against a rock. Something sick welled up in her stomach as she looked at the blood flowing from the gash in his head, down past his eye and along his cheek. 

What was happening? 

Ignoring the unconscious form of her formerly greatest foe, she reined her horse in a tight circle to survey the field. The forms of her men and of Maj's creatures littered the area in a strange array of multihued pockmarks as far as the eye could see, sedentary as statues, silent save for the sound of shuffling feet, creaking metal, and the moans of the injured. They seemed lost in thought. She snapped back to attention. Saeryth was counting on her to hold this line for his invasion… 

She looked at the bodies littering the field and had not the courage to fight any more. She urged her horse forward slowly, reluctantly. Her men, equally astounded, all of them, appeared just as hesitant to resume battle as she, while the creatures only seemed minutely disoriented at the event. She rode forward and touched the shoulder of one of her men, who was standing ramrod straight, staring at the horizon. "Private?" her voice was soft. 

He started at contact, turned around. "Colonel!" he gasped, seeing her. Timidly, he posed a question. "What happened?"

She shook her head, for once not taking note of his insolence when voicing the inquiry. "I don't know," she responded simply. 

He looked around him, lad of twenty that he was, horrified. "Yesterday's dead have not been attended too," he muttered, not knowing what else to say. He moved to pick up the sword he had dropped, but stopped, looked at the blood on it. He swallowed and turned back to her. "Colonel?" 

She was staring curiously at one of the creature's soldiers twenty feet forward, unconscious and slumped against the mane of her horse, the docile animal standing stalk still, awaiting an order from its rider. The girl stood out amongst the corps in her high seat, unmistakable amongst all others. Breia inhaled. "Private, she's human," she muttered, not able to voice the flurry of thoughts running through her head and thus speaking only the simplest one.

The young man followed her gaze to the young girl, not much older than himself. "She is, Colonel," he responded, in a similar fashion. 

"She appears injured," Breia stated softly, watching the girl's countenance as looks of pain came across it every so often. 

The man swallowed. "Should we? She's the enemy…should I…kill…?" He was shaken.

"No, no, Private," she soothed. "She needs our aide. As a fellow human, we must give it." The statement was optimistic, as Saeryth was more likely to take the dark haired girl and seduce her into becoming his own personal trophy rather than help her, but she could not help but feel hopeful. Surely if he loved her as he claimed he did, he would allow her this one thing. It was the only excuse she could come up with, this sudden inability to take another human life; any life... she cringed at the thought. Had it really been moments ago she had been cutting a bloody swath through the ranks of living creatures as if they held no consequence? 

The girl swayed on her mount, precariously balanced within the saddle. Her first instinct was to save her from the fall, and she rode forward hastily.

~~~~~~~~

Maj groaned, his head throbbing. He rolled over onto his side, smacked his lips…tasted…blood. Not his own. That was a plus. He peeled an eyelid open, only to shut it as it triggered a feeling of nausea deep within his bowels when he was met with the sun glaring into his vision. _**What the hell just happened?**_ He had been fighting. Was he dead? He forced himself to open his eyes again, shut the left one when the sting of warm blood invaded it. That blood was his own. The other eye managed to stay open and he used it to try survey the field. That wasn't much help, considering he was on the ground. He perked up an ear. It was silent…was the battle over? Groaning he clenched his teeth and pushed himself to his feet with no small effort. And promptly jumped at seeing a human soldier not three feet from where he stood, looking not at him, but over his shoulder, curiously. 

"What the hell?" he turned to regard the rest of the field. The opposing armies, previously engaged in bloodthirsty battle rage, stood docile (if not somewhat disconcerted) and quiet, some within arm's reach of an enemy opponent. A few held weapons, some did not. His men looked confused. The humans looked outright dumbfounded. 

The sound of horse's hooves encouraged him to turn around. He did it too fast for the liking of his brain however, and was overcome by a brief bout of dizziness, where the outsides of his vision blurred together in a fuzzy black-white line and he was forced to shut his eyes quickly to keep from toppling over outright. When he'd regained some of his equilibrium, he opened his eyes again, only to recoil in horror at the sight of Breia, Saeryth's most notorious Colonel, ride past at a brisk pace, an unconscious Cordelia Chase draped over the front of her saddle like a wreath. 

He sputtered a moment, before finding his voice. If his men were in as much disarray as he found himself, they would need word for word instructions. "What are you waiting for? Attack!!!" he snarled loudly, taking off after the horse as fast as his befuddled mind would allow, repeating the command over and over so others could hear as he did. 

Upon hearing their Colonel's command, the soldiers of the Protective Army surged forward, as if awakened from a debilitating form of paralysis. They regained their weapons, went forward seeking the kill…stopped.

On seeing the confused human at his feet, looking up with haunted eyes at him, a demon Private ceased mid-swing, could not bring himself to cut down that which moments before he would have without a second thought. Bewildered, he studied the human, those haunted eyes, before dropping back towards one of his comrades, a purple-horned beast who found himself in an equal position of disconcertment. 

"What should we do?" he questioned the purple officer, throwing a furtive glance over his shoulder at his Colonel, who in a fury, was pounding after Colonel Breia's horse, heedless of the confused regiment. 

"We can't just kill them…they're unarmed," the purple one replied, voice monotone with disbelief. "We're supposed to be the good guys."

"What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know. Big flash, and all of a sudden, they won't fight…" He nudged a prostrate human at his foot with the toe of his boot, could make out its pathetic murmurs of, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" 

They studied the field. "It's not all the same," the Private offered, seeing that some humans had regained battle posture, were fighting back for their lives. "What do we do?"

Purple grunted, and sheathed his weapon, wondering why he suddenly felt sorry for the miserable wrecks that were once the bane of his existence. "What else can we do? We take prisoners," he muttered, trussing up the crying man by drawing his wrists and ankles together. He spit on them, and the saliva congealed into a solid substance not unlike dry paste. They'd never taken prisoners before, not on so grand a scale. 

Strange.

_All good soldiers crack like boulders   
The sun climbs up to a razon, violins, new boots,   
And numbers on a chain   
All good soldiers   
All good soldiers fall in line   
When they march and shout_

Are a spectacle marching and singing-  
Will go anywhere the president says-   
Because the president believes in God-  
Like all good soldiers wait like warheads-   
When the fighting starts who will be accountable, a cannibal, a cannonball


	10. Part VIV: Sting of Defeat

**Part VIV: Sting of Defeat**

_I had a dream of the wide open prairie  
I had a dream of the pale morning sky  
I had a dream that we flew on golden wings  
We were the same  
Just the same  
You and I_

Follow your heart  
Little child of the west wind  
Follow the voice   
That's calling you home  
Follow your dreams  
But always remember me  
I am your brother  
Under the sun 

We are like birds of a feather  
We are two hearts joined together  
We will be forever as one  
My brother  
Under the sun

In a daring move, Doyle jumped his horse mid charge and tackled Saeryth off of his, leaving the animals rider-less, to gallop off towards the horizon of their choice without stopping less a stray weapon fire into their flesh with enough force for fatality. The combatants hit the ground and rolled to their feet simultaneously, in crouches, swords up. Saeryth's eyes were laughing, breath coming out in smiling gasps, cheerful, as if he'd run a marathon, had played touch football, had won a snowball fight.

Doyle, incensed at his opponent's enthusiasm, charged first, throwing everything into his offense against the man, the man who was the very symbol for every damn stupid thing in this war, the representative type characteristics responsible for everything bad and painful in Kaylorin: greed, ambition, pride, evil. _**More importantly, fer Aur's death.**_ He added in thought, belatedly. 

It seemed only right that Saeryth could feel the death he'd brought upon so many himself, feel the torment that Doyle did. A surge of vicious anger welled to riptide inside him at the thought. He brought down the sword with shocking force, intent on slicing his tormentor in half at the end of his charge. Saeryth, reflexes strong as always, brought his own weapon up to block in defense and the blades crossed each other in metal-quivering waves, arm's strength on either side pushing, straining to shove one or the other backwards and gain the advantage. 

All the while, Saeryth looked as if he might burst out laughing at any moment.

Doyle clenched his teeth. _**Stupid grinnin' bastard…**_

"Your… strength… has… improved…" Saeryth gritted out, admiration and belittlement warring in his tone. 

Doyle was prepared to bite back with a nasty comment, but was thrust backwards as a booted foot made intimate acquaintance with his stomach and he was launched several steps backwards. Saeryth in response stepped forward, amused smirk never leaving his face. "So, General…" he started conversationally, twirling his weapon in a rather impressive display of play. "…How would you like to die? Don't be shy now. We've known each other long enough that it's my duty to oblige you with the demise of your choice."

"You always did like to run yer mouth, Saer." Doyle imposed with a thrust, which was (expectedly) jovially deflected. 

"I feel that conversation on occasion can lighten the atmosphere considerably," the human responded neatly, deflecting another thrust, spinning into it, and delivering his elbow hard and fast into Doyle's nose.

Doyle staggered backwards, but did not fall, nor drop his defense. Blood spilled out in torrent from his nose; he could taste it on his lips.

"Oh, and I also find that the chatting drives my opponents to distraction," Saeryth added as an amused afterthought. 

"Thought you liked a fair fight," Doyle rejoined, wiping blood from his nose with one hand and blocking a swipe by his adversary with the other. 

"All skills that are my own are fair enough, General," Saeryth laughed, "as dirty as they might seem to one of your apparent honor," he baited. "For example…" Saeryth blocked Doyle's attack, let himself give in to the pressure just enough to throw the other General forward, and then pushed off again, sending the Irishman's arm upward, and thus leaving him open. In a lightning fast draw, Saeryth pulled a small dagger from his boot, and threw it with a precision of which few could brag in sharing. 

Doyle caught it a millimeter from his chest. Saeryth, unperturbed, looked undaunted. "You may fight dirty Saer, but my reflexes are still damn good," Doyle stated without pretense of arrogance. He tossed the projectile to the floor at his feet with a disgusted look.

Saeryth shrugged. "Always worth a try, friend."

This irritated Doyle more than anything Saeryth had done earlier. "I'm not your friend," he assured his opponent.

"No? What then?" Saeryth asked, as they both battled obligingly. He spun left of a thrust aimed at his gut and kept right on chattering. "Should I call you comrade? Confidant? Brother?" 

"None, neither, never," Doyle grunted, locking blades with Saeryth once again, their faces separated by only the X their weapons formed and the six inches between that. 

"We're not as dissimilar as you'd like to think, General." The statement was made softly, with all the cocky air of Saeryth's renown.

Doyle sneered and made to sweep the human's feet out from under him. "We aren't? Enlighten me." 

Saeryth jumped back neatly. "We're both Generals in mighty armies…"

"An' the brilliance of yer deduction leaves me prostrate at yer feet," Doyle drawled, seeing a quick opening and getting in fast enough to just knick the human at the junction of his shoulder and neck. A shallow cut, but at least the bastard was bleeding now. 

Saeryth chuckled and touched his free hand to the laceration. "Another similarity, we both do like the fight," he continued, as if the scratch was of no consequence, as if the sting were invigorating rather than debilitating. He lunged forward quickly, neatly nicking Doyle in his side before the other could move again, purely retaliatory for the earlier cut. 

Doyle ignored the biting pain of the blade edge into the soft flesh of his side. "We like this, the fight, eh? Says you. I'd rather be back home watchin' the Lakers."

If he was puzzled by the allusion, the human didn't make a show of it. "We're both destined for greatness," he pushed on. 

"If that's so, what's the point o' tryin' to skewer me?" Doyle questioned with a scoff, kicking aside Saeryth's blade, only to have his opponent pivot into the blow and recover with a back swing, which Doyle hastily blocked by throwing up the edge of his sword. 

Saeryth laughed. "That, brother, is where we differ slightly. Your greatness is fated to be at the end of my sword, and subsequently, retold in history books that generations of humans will look back on one day when regarding the wars. My greatness lies in the possibility of making that happen."

"We also differ in that you're a pompous ass, Saer, an' that if anythin' I'll make it so your generations of 'umans don't have a chance in hell." 

A triumphant light in the other man's countenance. "And another similarity there, fautor. We both want for the total annihilation of our opposition." 

General Doyle felt a little sick as the accusation struck true and only narrowly dodged a swing that would have cut him in half from right shoulder to left hip. He bit back the guilt of his adversary's sharp words, swallowed it like food. "I want peace," he argued, softly, vehemently. 

Saeryth looked (or faked in any case) affronted and did not follow through his swing. "As do I, General. I desire nothing more but peace. And what better way to achieve it than by eliminating everything that could possibly stand in its way?" He swung again, and Doyle blocked. Doyle threw their swords sideways but Saeryth circled his own in a counter clockwise motion that pushed his blade atop Doyle's, all the while managing to keep up his running commentary. "Peace is a noble experiment to be sure, but it can never be truly had until every one is in complete agreement, General Doyle."

The Protective Army leader laughed at that assumption, throwing a punch as he did, though his knuckles only barely grazed the flesh of his human nemesis. "You think that's the answer? Humans are even more unpredictable than the rest of us, Saer. No one else to fight, you know the poor slobs'd be cuttin' each other's throats within a week o' the end o' the war."

Saeryth, who had only slightly dodged the punch and made to kick Doyle with the toe of his boot in retaliation (Doyle blocked by raising his knee to prevent his moving), frowned at the other General's utter lack of visionary greatness. "With the right kind of leadership even the wildest, stupidest; most savage of animals can be made to behave, General."

"So you fancy yourself some sort o' revolutionary, then, Saer? That you can bring about the change o' the world, the change o' your kind? Forgive me while I laugh," Doyle punctuated as they clashed and locked against one another, this time he managing to throw the elbow of his sword arm up to clock Saeryth smartly in the nose. 

Saeryth ignored his bleeding nose and pushed back with animated fervor. "Peace, like war, General, is a notion only controlled by an iron fist." 

Doyle brought a knee between them, sending Saeryth falling onto his backside. "Your definitions o' peace an' slavery don't sound that different, Saer. That your big secret?" He followed the comment with a downward thrust, but the slippery eel rolled aside quickly, waited until the tip of Doyle's sword was embedded in the dirt and difficult to dislodge, before pulling himself to his feet and wiping away some of the blood dripping down his nose and into his mouth. 

"My secrets are beyond your comprehension," Saeryth rejoined, propping himself up for a quick breather before descending on Doyle again, who struggled with sword edge stuck in the dirt, muddied by addition of so much blood. Saeryth's outline appeared over him, he could see the shadow length of the blade on the ground before him, rising so that it might descend, to kill. He realized his sword would not come up in time to block, and suddenly, he wondered if this was not his chance. _**You were ready to die three years back, boyo, against yer will. Now you got the chance ta do it fer real this time, an' you're even more prepared than ye were before. Maybe ye should just take it an' be done…**_

The thought thrummed something bitter inside of him, the death he had steeled himself for three years past doing nothing but to bring him here, to fight more, to sacrifice more, to die a little more every day. _**Just let him do it, an' you'll be free o' this nonsense…**_

The blade reached the pinnacle of its arc and without waiting any longer; Doyle took a breath and pushed up, charged into Saeryth's chest plate and consequently, out of striking range with his closeness, toppling them both to the ground, his hands going up to wrap around the human's wrists and holding firm so as to render the weapon immobile. They struggled on the ground for a while before Doyle remembered there was half of his birthright he'd failed to utilize the duration of his fight with Saeryth. 

He morphed into his demon countenance, and felt as the spikes on his hands elongate, digging into Saeryth's hand flesh. He thrust forward in an unmerciful head butt for emphasis; the jagged horned protrusions in his forehead poking dagger thrusts like needles into the human skin of his enemy, leaving humming red punctures in the skin along Saeryth's temple. He heard the man's hiss of pain and took the chance to twist the blade above their heads while his opponent was recoiling. This dislodged the human General's grip on the weapon just enough for Doyle to yank it away, before rolling off and jumping to his feet, weapon reversed and firmly in hand, the point-tip of the sword edge hovering inches from the soft flesh quivering above Saeryth's jugular. Breathing heavily, he willed back the demon face so that his nemesis might be able to look at the face of tired victory before he died. 

~~~~~~~~~

Saeryth believed in destiny. He believed that it was an entity at his mercy, designed only to bend as he willed it, to fold and do exactly as he wished it to do. Destiny was a tool he used, not something omnipotent and random, as others believed. He knew what it was. It was pliable to the strength of his desires, and there was nothing more he desired than to take his place in legend as the one who killed Doyle, who won the war. The war itself was stupid and incredible in its frivolity (really, the inhabitants of this sickly little dimension had been fighting for countless centuries and not a foot gained or lost on either side? He had to wonder as to the incompetence of his ancestors. It was his personal ambition to have the whole thing done and over with within the next six months). As a whole, this war's sole purpose was to bring to him his destiny. He could care less for enslavement of the creatures, procuring their technology, taking their land; all the successes former leaders had prophesized during their reigns. All of that rubbish would simply be the tail end of his legacy. His own personal gift to himself (and not to those stupid animals he called brethren) was to be able to know that he was the most formidable, that he was the most proficient in mind and body when faced with the worthiest of opponents. That was what he yearned to make for himself. Or die trying. 

It seemed that for all his will, and all his desire, he was to do exactly that-die trying- rather than emerge triumphant. He was not as bothered by that as he assumed he might have been, considering the fact that if he was to die, he'd rather have it done on the battlefield against someone as estimable as General Doyle, and in the prime of his youth rather than anything else, rather than suffer death by the ravages of time and over-indulgence. But still, it grated on him somewhat, that destiny might have betrayed him, and instead of being hammered straight upon the anvil of his good faith, yield impurities. The sword point lay quivering at his throat as a breathless, bloody, but successful Doyle readied to sate his bloodlust (yes, he knew Doyle had it, an immense quantity of it in fact, but as far as he was concerned, everyone else was simply in denial) by beheading him.

As he had told Breia, the thrill of the fight where the outcome was not predetermined had its price, the possibility of defeat, and thus he supposed he was to pay it. He closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Doyle withdrew the blade from the immediate vicinity of Saeryth's throat skin and readied it for a fast, efficient descent to separate head from body. He would have (personally) liked to let the bastard live within the halls of the army complex, subject to torture and experiments of the worst kind by the scientists (for research) and the soldiers (for kicks) but the better part of him knew that that was the act of monsters, and not warriors for the Powers. Tempted, but not swayed (he was the good guy after all, as he had to constantly remind himself), he took a triumphant breath and made to say his goodbye once and for all, to his arch foe. 

"General!!!"

The sound of Maj's voice startled him and he turned his head before his good sense could prevail upon him not to. "Maj?" He saw Maj at a full gallop towards him, obviously unawares of the significange of what Doyle was about to do, looking too harried to pay attention to detail as he batted through humans intent on attacking him like horseflies so that he would be able to reach his General's side.

Remembering himself a split second later, Doyle turned to finish the task at hand.

"Damn."

Saeryth was gone.

_**Sneaky bastard.**_

_I had a dream of the wide open prairie  
I had a dream of the pale morning sky  
I had a dream that we flew on golden wings  
We were the same  
Just the same  
You and I_

Follow your heart  
Little child of the west wind  
Follow the voice   
That's calling you home  
Follow your dreams  
But always remember me  
I am your brother  
Under the sun 

We are like birds of a feather  
We are two hearts joined together  
We will be forever as one  
My brother  
Under the sun


	11. Part X: Mission Statement

**Part X: Mission Statement**

_Wish I was too dead to care  
If indeed I cared at all  
Never had a voice to protest  
So you fed me shit to digest_

I wish I had a reason  
My flaws are open season  
For this I gave up trying  
One good time deserves my dying

You don't need to bother  
I don't need to be  
I'll keep slipping farther  
But once I hold on  
I won't let go 'till it bleeds

Wish I'd died instead of lived  
A zombie hides my face  
Self forgotten with its memories  
Diaries left with cryptic entries

And you don't need to bother  
I don't need to be  
I'll keep slipping farther  
But once I hold on  
I won't let go 'till it bleeds

You don't need to bother  
I don't need to be, yeah  
I'll keep slipping farther  
But once I hold on, once I hold on  
I'll never live down my disease

"Goddamn." 

Maj watched as Doyle fell to the earth upon seeing Saeryth gone, whether from exhaustion, blood loss or disappointment, he didn't know, but the Colonel wasted no time in ordering a group of three soldiers to pick the General up and another group of ten to protect their way back towards the base. He'd have to get the man to safety before he'd be able to break the news. He'd left Gwyn in charge of the rest of the fighting, truth be told, with the collapse of Breia's front their soldiers were closing in on the humans in a steamroller pincer movement and every moment driving the former aggressors back towards their encampment in the next valley- he predicted the battle would be won within the span of the night. 

The thought of Breia made him growl aloud. He'd chased that damn woman as fast as he'd been able, had his way obstructed by humans of all sorts, from despondent to suicidal to comatose to aggressive to downright psychotic, a veritable cornucopia of crazy bipeds. He'd had to kill some to get them out of the way, had had to go around large groups of others. In other words, he'd trailed behind the horse about a quarter-mile before Breia disappeared over the ridge and he'd been left with the feeling that either or both of his lungs would explode at any given moment if he continued at the pace at which he had been going. 

Not a good day, despite the victory. Why the hell had she taken Cordelia? And what the hell had happened out there, exactly? 

Hours later back at the base, Maj ordered Doyle taken to his private chamber and Archi, the head surgeon, was called for there. When Archi arrived, covered in blood from others he was tending to, Maj respectfully bowed out of the room and allowed the man to do his job while he paced outside, wondering what the hell he could possibly say that would keep Doyle from storming out to Saeryth's camp and trying to fight his way to Cordelia single-handedly. You got that way when you lost something important that had just been recently returned to you. 

He sighed and leaned his back against the door, using the tip of a claw to pick absently on the scab beside his ear and chip away at the dried blood in his fur. He sat that way for who knew how long, staring out at empty space and picking at his cut until it began to bleed again.

"Colonel, sir?"

He looked up as Gwyn's personal assistant scurried into the room, looking so out of breath that his horns were turning blue from lack of oxygen. "Jem?" 

"Major Gwyndemyr wishes that I report the withdrawal of the enemy from the battlefield, sir."

Maj breathed a sigh of relief. One down… "Tell her to post three thousand volunteers to front line duty and the rest to bring back bodies," he ordered. Jem made to go, but Maj coughed to regain his attention. "Um, ask her to bury the humans out there too, Jem, once we've taken care of our own."

"Sir?"

"Well if their own guys aren't gonna do it, someone has to," he responded, feeling some pity for the human dead. "Plus… our guys kept tripping over the bodies," he added as an afterthought in a last ditch attempt to make his argument sound logical rather than sentimental. That was odd. 

"Aye, sir." Jem saluted and scurried off. 

~~~~~~~~~

So, destiny had not betrayed him after all. It has just seen fit to give notice that he was not as prepared as he had first presumed himself to be and thus, could only stand to prepare better. He wasn't even angry at Breia, whose entire regiment had been either killed or captured, causing the flank of his entire battle plan to collapse in on itself, giving the Protective Army time to rally around its leaders and drive his men back during the span of the night. It was just a battle, not the war after all. And if he himself had been unable to kill Doyle than the plan could be considered moot point anyway. He stared straight ahead as his surgeon stitched up the gash on his neck. It didn't hurt, but served as reminder to over-admiration for General Doyle and neglect to details by himself. He wouldn't call his defeat ignominious however, simply educative. He wasn't one to dwell much on the past unless it served an immediate purpose important to him (ie comparing recounts of Doyle's bout with his father to study the demon's battle prowess). Today had been a valuable lesson. 

"Finished, my lord," the surgeon stated after a moment, and he could hear the sound of the man packing up his supplies. "Take care not to pop the stitches before they're set, sir."

He nodded absently and dismissed the older man with a perfunctory wave of his hand. He supposed he should get to the business of clean up now, try and soothe the fury of the Supreme Command and punish his men for being the complete dolts that they were. Then there was the matter of counting the dead (or imprisoned, an issue raised recently which he would have to talk about with Breia later) and readjusting plans and regiments to compensate the losses. He'd also need spy reports of the state of Doyle's army. And a larger training room… Oh. And he had to have the remaining idiots from Breia's corps tortured and killed. 

A head peaked into the entry way of his tent. He turned to look, nearly succeeded in popping those stitches his surgeon had seen fit to tell him not to. He'd always been a rebel. 

"My lord?"

Seeing who it was, he turned to the mirror, touching his stitches and moving his head from side to side while studying his reflection. "Breia, considering your complete and utter defeat yesterday at the hands of a force equal to a third of your own, don't you think you should be off cowering in a corner and thinking about what a very bad girl you are?" Satisfied that the stitches would stay in place if he moved slowly, he got up and strode toward his desk.

She came forward, fixed him with a small smile that he found exceedingly odd. She didn't look ready to seduce him for a lesser punishment. That was new. "Saeryth, I came to ask you something…" Her voice was sincere. 

He arched a brow. She didn't usually ask for things until afterwards, when his mood was considerably improved from previous activities. "You've certainly a lot of nerve, my love, if you're requesting favors after so shameful performance."

She bowed her head. "Sir, I came to ask that we might try to negotiate with the Protective Army…"

If it wasn't such a damned indignant thing to do, his jaw would have dropped. "Come again?"

She even ignored that obvious opening for libidinous commentary. "I was hoping we could offer them a trade. You see, on the field today, I took one of their officers, and since they have my men…"

He felt a stirring of excitement at her words. "An officer, you say?"

"Yes sir. She's the new one, I believe, I'd never seen her before."

He laughed aloud now. "Ah my dear, I almost forgive your earlier transgressions. Do you think General Doyle would appreciate us returning her to him limb by limb with a spray of roses for decoration?" He began to trail off, the litany of thoughts that poured into his mind at this fortuitous advantage copious to extreme amounts. "Boil her head maybe, so her lips peel back in a rather comical grin for eternity? Amusing. It would certainly be another chink in his resolve regarding the whole war movement. Or even better. Perhaps we can convince her to fight for _us_? Imagine the look of pain on his face if he were to witness such a betrayal…"

She looked horrified. "Sir, they have several hundred of our men we must use her to…"

"Your men? Idiots, the lot of them," he dismissed unsympathetically. "If they're so stupid as to get captured, those creatures can use them for rations for all I care. I would have undoubtedly killed them to cure myself of boredom one day anyway. We, my dear, have to think about the future. Namely, what to do with this officer of yours. Naturally, General Doyle is all in a tizzy about it. It's in his nature. And to our advantage."

She made as if to speak. He cut her off with a gesture. "No, you can't torture her. Not yet, anyway. We need to plan a little more before we do something hasty, dearest. Go, see to it that she's comfortable, and quite afraid of what we could do to her at any moment. I have to debate how I wish to approach this."

She opened her mouth again.

Upon hearing her intake of breath, he turned towards her, looking stern. "Colonel? I believe that was an order." 

She swallowed the excess air and bowed her head before scurrying out. He watched her go with narrowed eyes. "Curious."

~~~~~~~~

Maj started when Archi peered out of the General's door. "He's fully awake now, Colonel. Asking for you," the surgeon stated neutrally.

Maj swallowed and nodded, got to his feet and let the doctor pass. "Thanks, Arch."

"Colonel, when you're done speaking, I want you to come to the infirmary and get that head wound looked at."

"Ah, just a scratch, Arch, it'll be okay."

"Sir, by my medical authority…"

The Colonel sighed. "All right, all right. I'll be down after I speak to the General…" _**If the old boy hasn't killed me already anyway,**_ he added in thought. He got up and padded into Doyle's room, nudged the door closed gingerly behind him with his hind foot. "General?"

"Maj?"

"Yes, sir."

"What the hell?!" Doyle growled, struggling to sit up and face his subordinate. "And how long have I been out?"

"Um, it's morning. Archi just came to check on you just now."

Doyle's eyes widened considerably. "What? You've got to be kidding me. It feels like I was just…" He sounded miffed, managed a glare at his friend. 

"Good to see the blood loss and exhaustion aren't affecting you adversely, sir," Maj stated, backing up (only a step). 

"We'll see if'n you can't do the same in a second if ya don't tell me what the damn that little charge o' yours was all about. I had that bastard on the ropes. Was 'bout to cleave his head right off!"

Maj swallowed, regretfully. "I didn't know, sir."

"An' I told you to keep an eye on Cordy…next thing I see ya chargin' on my field an' yer not even keepin' an eye on your own damn soldiers, let alone her."

The wolf looked down at the floor. "About that, sir…"

"Yah?"

_**Just lay it down there, Maj. You've faced more dangerous situations before. Really. Deep breath, look him in the eye. That's it. Now pretend you're still a badass and he won't knock you to hell and back with a rolled up newspaper for being a naughty puppy.**_ "Um, sir…Cordelia was taken." 

~~~~~~~~

Cordelia groaned and sat up in a strange bed, within a strange tent, clutching her head as the annoying sound of morning birdsong filtered in through the canvass. "What the hell?" she muttered, feeling weak inside, a thousand evil forces had imbedded themselves into her very soul, littered it with pinprick spots of darkness and pain. She shook it off, tried to make the nausea leave. 

"Hurts like a bitch, don't it?"

She yelped and jumped in the bed she'd been laid in, startled at the voice, and turned to its source to her immediate right. A man in a sleazy looking brown jacket and Hawaiian-print shirt greeted her, toothpick in mouth and hat tilted at an ambitious angle atop his head. She drew back, pulled the strange blanket covering her higher on her person, as if it could protect her from whatever threat this newcomer posed.

The man laughed, heartily. "Hey, easy there sweetheart. I'm one of the good guys."

"You look like a bookie," she responded before she could stop herself. The sound of her own voice hurt her ears. "Damn. Remind me not to do that again," she murmured, much pained. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm here about actually…" he started, amiably. "The name's Whistler."

"Oh…" She wracked her throbbing brain. She'd heard that name before. Right. Doyle. "Right. Doyle." Her eloquence was astounding. 

Whistler seemed pleased that the good General had seen fit to mention him, even during her brief tenure in his company the past few days. He took a nonchalant breath, smiled at her. "So, you cleaned the souls of about 600 humans yesterday afternoon."

She groaned, rubbed at her temples ineffectually. "Good to know why I feel so slimy inside."

"One of the drawbacks of some awesome superpowers, sweets." 

"So, you came to be Mister-State-The-Obvious, or are you going to tell me what the heck happened?"

Whistler ignored her sarcasm. "You activated your powers on the field…remember that little stunt you pulled on Connor a whiles back? Did the same thing…except multiplied like, 800 times, babe." He took a sharp, inhaling breath. "Not healthy for you. Especially since Tharrier's tend to take it all inside of themselves… takes them about six hours to break down small amounts of that darkness at a time. Most of the time, it only makes you feel a little gloomy. But too much at once can be positively deadly." 

"Again I say, good to know," she muttered, not really caring about the technicalities so much as where the hell she was and when her headache would fade. "Where the hell am I?"

"Saeryth's camp. Colonel Breia's tent, actually."

Her eyes widened, pain momentarily forgotten. She'd been taken prisoner? "What?"

He put his arms up to placate her. "Relax…Breia saw you collapse after your little Siegfried and Roy light show. Overcome by a strange new thing called compassion, Saeryth's little girlfriend picked you up and took you here to nap, right as her entire regiment pulled out of the field."

Cordy frowned. "Why?"

Whistler was amused. "Weren't you paying attention? You sucked the darkness right out of her. Doesn't work the same way for everyone, but it's what happened to her. She felt bad for you."

"That's a good thing, I guess."

"Definitely." He stepped towards her, hands rubbing together. "So, I'm here to tell you not to do it again."

She was confused, and sent him a look expressing just that. "What?"

"What Doyle said earlier? On the dot. You try to do the whole human army in the way you did Breia's regiment today; you'll be dead inside a week, sweets." 

She frowned. "But I thought… what about destiny and all that?"

"Hey, the Powers that Be may be a bit fickle, but they generally don't want their players killed off, Cordelia. What I'm sayin' is, your mission here's a little different. I'm here to give you a few hints before you burn out overdoing it, like you almost did today." 

She rubbed at her temples and took a deep breath before looking back up at him. "So, spill." 

He chuckled admirably. "Well for one, no more mass cleansings, okay? As much vitality you got in you, Tharrier still can't take that much."

She gave him her most obvious "duh" look. "So what's my purpose if I can't fix things here?"

He smirked. "That's where you're wrong. That's exactly your purpose. To fix things."

She growled. _**Stupid Omnipotent ambiguity. If they'd just up and tell us what they wanted it could totally save us all lot of angst.**_ She vowed to drop a scathing report into the PTB's comment box the next time she got a chance. "Clarify? Please?" she voiced, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

"Wars are won in small steps, Princess," he stated, shoving his hands into his pockets and giving an indistinct shrug of the shoulder. "You find the key, you win the war. You don't have to overturn every rock'n boulder."

She regarded him with a disgusted expression, disorientation and that dull throbbing inside of her skull making her more irritable than usual. "Yes, and for those of us who speak English that would mean, what?" 

"You find the key," he responded simply. "The whole army isn't important."

She blinked. "The key? Like, small, metal, unlocks locks?" 

He laughed outright. "Okay, bad metaphor, I guess. You'll have to excuse me. Rules of engagement say I'm not supposed to give you all the answers. Just a lot of clues." 

"Yeah, and you wonder why this planet's been at war for centuries," she snorted. The gesture sent her head spinning again, and she had to close her eyes briefly. Once she'd regained her equilibrium, she forced them open. "So I find the key."

He turned speculative. "Lemme put it this way, hon. You ever notice how a lot of the time, one person can change the whole world?"

She groaned out loud. "If this is some spew about my destiny, excuse me while I gag."

He shook his head. "No, not more of the same old jargon, I know you've heard it enough as is. I'm just offering some speculation that might give you a little insight on what I'm talking about here. I ain't allowed to tell you out right, ya know. But if you don't figure it out, the way things have been progressing, this whole dimension's going down the pot hole."

She sighed, resigned to cryptic lectures. "So, talk."

He smiled at her understanding and cleared his throat. "You see, it's like this. There are rules the PTBs operate by sometimes. Not fixed, mind you, they can change whenever fate's feeling particularly capricious. But they are there. Take our rules regarding earth, for example. Humans are good and bad, vampires are just bad, Slayers are good. You know, general rules." 

She quirked both eyebrows at his obvious statement. "And?"

"And? Sometimes those rules get shot to hell. Take the "vampires are bad" thing, for example."

"There's Angel."

"No, no, he doesn't really count. I guess. The Soul thing kind of puts him in the realm with other humans, though some of his physical attributes are different fundamentally, I guess. But what I meant was, every now and again, a vampire comes along that isn't like the rest of them. Which can be bad or good, depending on how you look at it. Take the Master, for example. He was out of the ordinary for bad as far as vamps go. He was real nasty. Smart, inspiring, real strong. It's why he survived as long as he did. You don't see every vampire out there being just like him, do you? He was like, the Michael Jordan of evil vamps. And then sometimes it swings the other way. To use a recent example, like William the Bloody. Spike to you."

A small snort of surprise. "Spike?"

Whistler shrugged again. "Yeah, he seemed real bad, but he was never Angelus bad, or Master bad. And it turns out he's really just passionate. He willingly fell in love with a human, willingly sought out a soul."

"As surprising as that is, this all has to do with the war, how?"

He looked slightly annoyed at her umpteenth interruption. "I'm getting there," he assured her hastily. "What I'm saying is, both the Master and Spike had or have, in some cases, the potential to change the world because they're different. Because they weren't the ordinary, stupid-lackey-fashion-victim-vampires that are the majority of the species." 

"So they were special. What did they want, bumper stickers? A ride to school in the short bus every day?"

He chuckled at the last comment. "Nah…alls I'm saying, case isn't so different here than on earth." He paused, trying to find a way to correctly word what he wanted said. "Look, babe. There are two types of people here that make the world move. You've got your big bads; you've got your heroes. The thing they've all got in common is: they're visionaries. They're unique. They've got a way they want to see the world, and they go for it. Instead of watching off to the side like most people, they make things move, bad or good. The rest of us are all just pawns. The Powers…they try to keep it on a balance, keep it from flying over one edge into another, ya know? From too good to too bad. The problem in Kaylorin is we've got these players, these movers, and for a while, things have been shifting out of balance. We need to nip that in the bud. That's what you're here to do. Forget the pawns, sweets; you can't get 'em all. What we need from you is to find one of the kings who's out of sorts with all the other players, and patch him up a little."

"Oh, with the current population of this whole WORLD, I'm sure that won't be hard," she drawled. "You seriously want me to find one of your little visionaries and fix him right up?" 

Whistler shrugged. "If not, things could get ugly, toots. Here's a hint…you spend enough time with the humans here, you'll see a pattern. You spend enough time in the Protective Army's bases; you see a pattern. There's always one to how things usually are."

"So you want me to look for a pattern?"

He winked. "Wrong again, sweetheart. I want you to look for an anomaly." 

She had been ready to question him on his purposely ambiguous statement, but a rustling at the tent's entrance could be heard, interrupting her train of though. She turned towards it quickly, before turning back to Whistler for a last word. Or at least a theoretical last word, as the spot he had been in seconds before was now vacated. She cursed under her breath before hastily laying back down and shutting her eyes. She wasn't sure after all, if the people coming to visit were here to see her or kill her. 

Breia crept into the tent, balancing a bowl of warm water in one hand and a washcloth in the other. Seeing that her charge was still asleep, she set the bowl on the table beside the bed before taking a chair and pulling it to the side. She dipped the cloth into the water and cleaned off some of the dirt that smudged the girl's face. Strange that she seemed unharmed for anything except her unconsciousness. She assumed that the strange flash in the midst of battle had had similar effects to this human as it had her own men.

Cordelia decided that whoever was here wasn't going to sponge-bath her to death. She slowly peeled open an eyelid. The blonde woman wiping her head gave a bit of a start. _**I guess this would be Breia…but just to make sure…**_ Cordy sat up gingerly, made an effort to prop herself up against the headboard so as to be able to regard the other woman eye to eye. Once settled, she turned to face her. "Who are you?" 

The woman smiled. "I'm Colonel Elsebett Breia." 

"Where am I?"

"You're in my tent."

_**And Whistler scores for accuracy. Ten points! Ooh, but minus ten for bad clothes and we break even…right, information gathering…on it.**_ She cleared her throat. "Why am I here?"

The other woman pressed her lips together. In all honesty, she didn't know why she'd felt compelled to take the girl herself. Uncharacteristically (of her past anyway) she decided to go with honesty when answering. "I'm not sure."

_**Ooohkay. Weird. Time to change the subject.**_ "Uhm…wasn't there a battle?"

A shadow of amusement flickered across the blonde's hazel eyes. "You ask a lot of questions for a prisoner. I am told they're usually not so talkative. But yes, there was a battle. Truth be told it ended in another draw."

"Oh." Cordelia rubbed her head. That could be either good or bad, but she didn't want to think about it right now. "So, I'm your prisoner, huh?"

"I guess you are." Breia put the wash cloth aside. 

"You just don't have a dungeon?" Cordy drawled before she could think.

Breia was accustomed enough with Saeryth's sarcasm to know when it was being employed. "We don't usually take prisoners."

That was weird. "So what do you do with the…oooh." Her eyes went a little wide when she understood the meaning behind the answer. "So… I'm the lucky first?" She laughed nervously to herself. "Great."

"I'm to take care of you. My lord will most likely be here soon, after he breaks his fast, to tell us what will be done with you." There was a hint of regret in her voice. After a second, Breia cleared her throat and posed the question that had been nagging her mind since her retreat from the field. "Tell me, what does Doyle do with his prisoners?"

Cordelia made a face. "I don't know. I didn't see any when I was in the…oooh. Um. I'm not sure. Does he take them a lot… either?" 

The Colonel shook her head. "Not often. But today his army took many men from my regiment. I'm afraid they'll be executed."

Cordelia turned a bit indignant. "Hey now, I'm sure Doyle's just locked them up or whatever. It's not like he'd kill a whole bunch of helpless people." 

"Their base was not designed to hold prisoners."

"Oh." Cordelia had to wonder about that. 

"Are you hungry? You have been asleep for a while now."

_**Saved by the subject change.**_ "Um, sure. I guess. Sort of."

Breia reached over to ring a bell on the table that had been resting beside the bowl. Not a second later, a head peered cautiously into the flap of the tent. "Colonel?"

"Bring us something to eat, Myer." 

"Yes, madam." 

Cordelia looked dully impressed. "Good service."

"Fear for your life will do that to a person."

"I see your point." _**And your conversation skills sink to a new low.**_ They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "So…what do you think's going to be done to me?" Cordelia posed after a minute or so.

The blonde looked up from studying the pattern of the blanket and faced her. "I'm not sure. Saeryth is…"

"Really mean?" a hint of hope in her voice for a negative answer. 

Breia frowned. "No, he's not mean at all."

"Downright wicked?" Cordelia continued before she could stop herself. _**Yeah, so tact apparently only works when you're commenting on décor and are not in a life threatening situation. Well golly gee willikers, Batman. I'm just like my mother!**_

The Colonel shook her head again at Cordy's inquiry. "No, he's not wicked either. He's…indifferent… I suppose the word is." She paused to look toward the tent flap, and lowered her voice. "Which is oftentimes far worse than mean or wicked." 

Just then Myer returned with a tray of food: steaming hot something or other covered in gravy, two good sized loaves of bread, and cups of water. He gave one plate to each lady before bowing and backing out of the room with his head lowered. Cordelia studied the steaming-something. She smelled it. Then decided to go with the bread. _**Bread I know.**_ She tore off a chunk and nibbled the edge tentatively. _ *Tastes like bread.**_ She took a larger chunk and put it in her mouth._** Definitely bread.**_ And then she started coughing, grabbing for her cup and downing a large gulp of water. _**Very dry other-dimension bread. Obviously they have yet to discover the wonder that is fat free processed butter-like spread. Though I guess we know what the brown stuff is for now.**_ After she swallowed, she turned back to her hostess to continue their conversation. "Why is indifferent worse?"

Breia almost asked her what she was talking about, but then recounted what she'd last said before the delivery of the food. "He cares for nothing that does not include his vision, I suppose," she whispered after a moment of thought.

_**Oh, trigger word. Work, memory, work.**_ "A vision, you say?" she inquired, curiosity piqued. 

"For the betterment of mankind, he calls it. It is his vision to revolutionize the world."

_**And the plot thickens.**_ "So… he's got all these ideas and stuff?"

Breia dipped her bread into the gravy but did not put the portion in her mouth. "Many."

Whistler's words sung in Cordelia's head. The movers, the ones who made things function. A visionary. An anomaly. It couldn't be this easy, could it? "So, he's not like other guys?" she started, tentatively.

Breia gave her a strange look. "Why are you so interested in my lord?"

Cordelia feigned innocence. _**Take that, evil casting directors! I so CAN act!**_ "Just making conversation," she said on the outside. 

Breia tore the corner of the loaf and played with it between her fingers. "Most humans are savages," she allowed. "Emissaries of sin. They have no self-motivated purpose other than that which either they feel they desire at that very moment or which someone else tells them they desire at the moment. Most of them are sheep. Docile creatures, like horses."

"And then you've got your great leaders," Cordelia added.

Breia eyed the other human girl curiously. "Yes. Like Saeryth."

"Are you like that?"

"Docile?"

"No, a leader."

"I'm both, I suppose." Breia looked her over once more. "And what are you?"

"Cordelia," Cordelia responded, not really sure what else she could say.

"That's your name?"

"Yeah."

"It's a strange name. And you're an officer of the Protective Army?"

"Yeah."

"You're new."

Cordy looked startled. "How'd you know?"

"I've never seen you prior to today."

She calmed. "Oh. I guess that makes sense." She put her food aside, deciding that the bread wasn't worth sandpapering her throat over. 

"You aren't hungry?"

"Um, I was. But now I'm full. Uh, where I'm from, that's a lot of food." She gestured to the corner of bread she'd eaten. "A lot." _**I didn't even have to lie. Girls from Los Angeles eat like, NOTHING,**_ she added mentally.

"I see." Breia followed and put her own tray aside. "May I ask you a question?"

"Well, you're the sheriff. It's not like I can stop the interrogation."

Breia didn't know what a sheriff was, but the second sentence of the response seemed encouraging. "Do you know what happened on the field today?" The self assurance the woman had presented in every aspect prior to asking seemed to melt a bit with the question. "What was that light?"

Cordelia's heart rate sped up considerably. "Light?" she asked, lamely.

"You must have seen it."

"Oh. _That_ light." Cordelia worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "It was…bright?"

Breia nodded. "Like something was washing through me. A flash." 

Cordelia looked down towards her knees under the blanket, poking out in small peaks under the brown cloth. "It made you feel different." 

"Yes. It made all us humans feel different."

"But you… and when I say you, I mean we… cause we're all humans here ha ha ha…don't know how it happened."

"Yes."

Cordelia would have said something, but the sound of horse's hooves pounding the ground nearby drew Breia's attention away. She stood up and stacked her plate on top of Cordelia's, a large portion of the food also uneaten. Cordelia watched as the other woman knotted her hands in front of her. _**Nervous. That's not encouraging.**_

Myer scurried in, hurriedly, bowing three times as he did, in rapid succession. His voice shook with fear as he hastily tried to make his announcement (as protocol demanded). "Announcing the arrival of his Lordship, Supreme Commander of the…aah!!" he yelped like a kicked puppy as Saeryth came up behind him, shadow completely enveloping him, tall and foreboding. Under normal circumstances the General had created a sort of custom that consisted of placing his hand firmly atop the assistant's head like one would palm a basketball and tossing him conveniently to the side rather effortlessly should the man be in his way at any given time. However, at the moment, and in the presence of ladies no less, the General restrained himself with noteworthy dignity, and waited for Myer to scurry out of the way before stepping forward. The assistant responded to his master's generosity clumsily, sliding hastily to the side and running face first into one of the Colonel's sturdier bookshelves. 

Both women cringed at the loud thud.

Saeryth took a breath. "Thank you, Myer. Wonderful to see you in good health," the General intoned cheerfully, voice and bearing both regal despite the assistant's ignominious appearance. The fact that the little toad would be so clumsy during Saeryth's carefully manufactured first session with the prisoner irritated him. That in all his grandeur, the insignificant worm would have the gall to belittle his introduction and at the same time disgrace the entire army by being such a complete Philistine made the General itch to turn around and crumple the bones in the man's neck between his fingers, not unlike a dry leaf.

Instead, he straightened even more and smiled charmingly in the lackey's general direction. "That will be all, Myer. Oh, and say hello to your mother for me, when you've the chance," he stated amiably, though the glint in his eye belayed to the servant his truly annoyed state of mind. It was a well known fact that Myer's mother was currently in a boarding home for the elderly back in the human city of Seph, receiving care for a deadly disease on which the payment for her treatment rode solely on her son's ability to perform well in his office. Saeryth's statement had been a warning, not a polite incursion as to the wellbeing of his inferior's relations. It would be unfortunate indeed if the man's mother paid the price for his bungling up his lordship's interrogation. Myer swallowed and backed out of the room bowing repeatedly and muttering half-coherent platitudes. 

Once the grub had made his rather disgusting exit, Saeryth turned to his present company; executed a smart half bow towards the two women and greeted them cordially. "Ladies."

Breia managed a weak smile in response. She saw behind the façade, knew it all too well. The General was at his most fearsome when charming, a snake that made his prey desire the bite before he struck. She cast her eyes downward. "My lord."

Sparkling azure eyes then fell on Cordelia, complete in their attention, unwavering in their intensity. "And what vision appears before me thus?" 

Cordelia gave him the once over. _**He's hot. In a strictly scientific way, of course. Yes.**_ "Who are you?" she responded, refusing to answer his question until she knew more herself. 

Breia inhaled a little breath at the dark haired girl's rather forward question. Cordelia took that as a bad sign. 

"Me? Oh I am nothing, if not at your service, my lady," Saeryth drawled, taking her hand and brushing a chaste, though entirely charming kiss against the knuckles, continuing to study her luminously, veneer of cheerful sincerity presented on the outside while he cunningly calculated every aspect she presented to him with his mind and filed it away for future use. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am General Erwin Saeryth, commander of the Human Purification Armies, madam. And you are?" He spoke the title smartly, asked the question seductively; voice deep, a purr that rumbled over her skin like satin.

_**Mmmm, very hot. But Erwin? What a dorky name…Like Dexter only more so. Stop staring. Answer him. Brain to mouth, come in mouth. Work mouth, work.**_ "Um, hi. I'm Cordelia. Cordelia Chase." 

One half of his smile quirked further upward, and she wondered if he could simultaneously melt and cut someone with such a look. "A foreign name. Strange, though exotic as your beauty my dear," he said of her introduction. 

Of all the things she would defend unto the utmost, Angel, Doyle, Connor, and her name lay at the top of that list. _**Foreign? Exotic? Not so bad. But STRANGE?**_ "What, and Erwin is impressive?" she shot back without thinking. 

Breia cringed visibly. 

But Saeryth only laughed good-humouredly, a low rumble in his chest, deep and throaty. "Ah what spirit! It warms my heart to see such fire. If only half of my men displayed this type of inner strength, the war would be won. I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to observe such a captivating creature, Breia. You have done me a great service by bringing her here." 

Emboldened, Cordelia sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, about that. What are you going to do with me?" 

His eyes twinkled mischievously and he looked her slowly over once more, a hint of what he might have done with her, given her consent. He wasn't an animal, after all. Upon seeing that his heated gaze had the desired affect of making Cordelia flush slightly, he winked boyishly before turning back to his Colonel and nodding in her direction. Breia, apparently not at ease with the General's outward appearance of charisma, turned away and ducked outside, muttered something to the guard standing at the door. "What's going on?" Cordelia questioned, more than slightly worried at that point.

"It is a shame really, these archaic rules of warfare. And such a travesty that one of your free spirit should be subdued. But unfortunately, centuries of protocol demands of me that you, designated the enemy, must be restrained until it is deemed that you pose no risk. Were it up to me, my dear, the crime of binding hands such as yours would be avoided at all costs." He looked her over again, eyes deceptively beseeching. "I trust you will cooperate, as we struggle to remain civil on grounds such as these, though the monsters that we battle day and night constantly try to strip even that from us."

She wished she could have protested; could have told him what she had been forced to learn the hard way. That not all demons were evil. But she had not the effort now. 

Mesmerized by his speech, she could only hold out her hands for him when Breia returned, delivering the rope that was to bind her. He began to wind it around her wrists.

Once finished securing her, he looked back into her eyes, (was that a hint of smugness she detected?). "Just a precaution, I assure you. It's nothing personal."

She looked skeptical. _**Okay, still hot, but kind of an ass now.**_ "Whatever." 

"Many thanks. Perhaps…perhaps when this mess is seen to, I could persuade you to fight alongside us, alongside me, against our common enemy?" he purred, deep voiced and shamelessly seductive. With her intake of breath at his inquisition, he straightened and smiled again, though this particular grin bit in deep contrast to his previous addresses, from soft charm and dignified sincerity to something else; something cold, calculating, with murderous intent; something triumphant. 

Cordelia turned away from his eyes and let her bound hands rest in her lap. _**Oh you SO fell for the charm thing Cordy. Bad. He's the bad guy, remember?**_ She blew some hair out of her face, slightly miffed at her inability to avoid his snake-charmer's flute before realizing his attractiveness was more likely than not completely insincere. But she was on to him now. Really, she was. "So," she breathed, tugging at the bindings around her wrists. "You're the big bad in these parts, huh?"

~~~~~~~~

Maj stared at Doyle. This hadn't been the reaction he'd been expecting. He'd been expecting yelling. Possible dismemberment and a lot of colorful language. The blank stare was scaring him. They'd been sitting here for five minutes. No one had moved. He blinked once. 

"Maj, get out of here." 

And there it was. Only a million times worse than he could have imagined. "Doyle…"

"Leave."

"Sir, I don't think she's dead, they probably…"

"Dammit man, get out of here if ya wanta live. Go." 

Maj looked at his superior, his long time friend. He swallowed nervously. Doyle looked so calm on the outside, save for the occasion deep, shuddering breath. He looked like a living statue, sitting there in his bed, fresh stitches on his arm and an ugly purple bruise forming rings around both eyes from the blow to the nose. The calmness was the most deadly part; the Colonel had seen it before, the same cold precision that Doyle had used to destroy General Fredmond Saeryth on the battlefield long ago. It was impersonal and icy, the sort of anger that froze rather than scathed. "Sir…" his plea was meek. 

"Have my horse saddled. I'm goin' fer her tonight."

"Sir, Breia took her…after what happened on the field today…"

"Dismissed, Colonel!!!!" Doyle shouted suddenly, and Maj froze as the General's dagger pounded into the wall scant millimeters from his ear, quivering with enough force to make the hilt shake, to split the hairs at his cheek. An inch right and he would have gone into his eye, through the back of his head, would have pinned him to the wall like paper on a corkboard. 

_**So that's it then.**_ He bowed his head, solemnly. "Aye, sir." And padded out of the room.

_Wish I was too dead to care  
If indeed I cared at all  
Never had a voice to protest  
So you fed me shit to digest_

I wish I had a reason  
My flaws are open season  
For this I gave up trying  
One good time deserves my dying

You don't need to bother  
I don't need to be  
I'll keep slipping farther  
But once I hold on  
I won't let go 'till it bleeds

Wish I'd died instead of lived  
A zombie hides my face  
Self forgotten with its memories  
Diaries left with cryptic entries

And you don't need to bother  
I don't need to be  
I'll keep slipping farther  
But once I hold on  
I won't let go 'till it bleeds

You don't need to bother  
I don't need to be, yeah  
I'll keep slipping farther  
But once I hold on, once I hold on  
I'll never live down my disease


	12. Part XI: A Job To Do

**Part XI: A Job To Do**

_Draw the shades to close my eyes  
I never want to see again  
I found the cost of courage high  
Sometimes hard to pay  
I hear the songs the sirens sing  
Calling on the shores for me  
So sell your soul and try to fly  
The tether still remains  
And all the finer things they laid upon my table  
Smiled as their hooks were slowly sinking in_

"Breia, excuse us for a moment," Saeryth said smoothly, though the Colonel could see the glint of an order lying beneath his silken words.

She stepped forward. "Sir, I…"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "One moment if you please, my dear," he said politely to Cordelia, before drawing Breia to the side by the arm, his countenance morphing from congenial ease to slightly annoyed with his Colonel's attitude. She had been acting strangely out of character since her failure on the field, as if she had some bizarre right to question his orders. An odd pattern of misbehavior was beginning to become apparent in her as well as the men from her corps that had managed to return to camp. Deciding he would question the captive on that in a moment, he turned his back to her and faced his officer. Gone was the dashing magnetism from his features, replaced instead with narrowed eyes and a slight tightening of his fingers around her wrist. Luckily enough for her, he made it a general rule to avoid striking women. Otherwise surely, the bones of her arm would be crushed now. "Breia, darling, are you suddenly ill, or did you just develop a 24-hour case of innate human stupidity? If you have, I just want to let it be known that had that been a request, you would have heard the question word and the inquiring tone at the end," his voice was flat so as not to be overheard but steel sparkled between the cobalt orbs of his eyes, the one place where he was hard put to hide anything from anyone. He withdrew his hold on her and tenderly smoothed down the shoulder of her uniform. 

At his dangerous turn of mood, she stood to attention, lip only slightly quivering. "Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." And took out of the tent with only one backwards glance. Cordelia watched he go before turning back up at her less hospitable captor, hands bound.

He made his way back towards the bedside, and in one swift motion the animosity was gone and once again he was only a hero, a servant to his people. "Cordelia," he began, completely ignoring the transgression between he and his second in command she had witnessed but had been unable to overhear moments before, "forgive me for being so bold as to ask so soon after our acquaintance has been made, but I feel I must inquire as to what a human is doing in the ranks of those monsters," he started inquisitively, propping one foot onto the bed and leaning his weight against the bent knee. Trying to give off a casual air, to relax her defenses so that she may speak candidly. 

She looked up at him, and almost instantly, he could read the fact that she wasn't up for any more of his bullshit. It delighted him and frustrated him at the same time. If she wasn't going to fall under his spell completely, the honesty of her answers was probably worth about the same as a second lieutenant amongst his men: absolutely nothing. Yet also, such a fascinating person was too much of a joy of study to be truly angry at, and so these feelings warred within him. He decided to continue to play the debonair card, despite her skepticism regarding his sincerity, to see where it might take him. 

"Well, I can see from the expression on your face that you're hardly impressed with my hospitality. Truly Cordelia, I didn't expect you to be the suspicious type. And you looked so young and innocent as well." He appeared slightly insulted.

She frowned at his statements. "Maybe I'm all of the above," she responded flippantly.

"Perhaps you are, Miss Chase," he responded with a wry expression. He regarded her intensely for a moment, and she found herself once again, hard put to ignore his charms and remind herself of that coldness she had sensed in him prior, of the fact that he was the enemy. "Perhaps you are even deadly as well. Who really knows, with these first encounters?" he asked lightly, though her reaction to the seemingly careless comment was studied rather fervently if the sparks flying beneath his eyes indicated anything. 

Her initial reaction was to balk at the accusation that _she_ could possibly be deadly and consequently, her skin flushed slightly with surprise (whether at his astuteness or the ludicrous nature of the accusation she couldn't be sure). "Deadly? Me? What makes you say that?"

"If you'll allow me to be completely candid, Miss Chase, young and innocent isn't what normally makes the cut to officer, especially concerning females, which, when push comes to shove, is the decidedly more dangerous, if not most alluring, of the sexes. So naturally, there's more to you than I see, I can feel it." His cerulean eyes glittered like diamonds, filled with some profound thought.

She for one, didn't like the look on his face. _**Just what we need. A villain who actually thinks. Where's Emperor Zerg when you need him?**_ "What are you going to do with me?" she asked after an uncomfortable moment under his scrutiny, the intensity of his study bothering her more than slightly.

"A rare gem like you?" He smiled ruefully and reached out to tenderly brush a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, as a longtime lover would, hand lingering at her cheek like a gentle ghost. "What do you mean to the General, I wonder?" he asked, voice deep and gravelly, the sound not unlike that of a cat's purr. She realized he'd ignored her query regarding her fate completely; instead, responding by posing a question of his own. And as such, he also succeeded in simultaneously mesmerizing her and creeping her out even more.

"What _I_ mean to him? Nothing. I mean, he just met me. Heh." She withdrew her head slightly from his lingering fingers' reach, glaring up at him as he placed his hand behind is back in a gesture of false propriety. 

He heard the falter in her voice. Oh, certainly, her ability to lie (act?) surpassed that of many he'd seen in the past, but as an avid studier or human character, Saeryth heard the reluctance there, the hitch between thoughts connecting as she concocted the lie in her mind. _**Quick girl.**_ "You're sure he cares nothing for you? Surely a rarity such as yourself, someone so striking, must have some importance to him. I mean…" he turned sly, "it's not as if we could send you to him, broken and lifeless and expect no reaction, is it? You fail to give yourself enough credit as to your worth, my dear."

She shuddered at the ease to which he made the reference of her death, cleverly sandwiched between flattery or no. "Well…uhm… maybe that would raise his yuck factor a notch or two?"

He laughed. "You are a fascinating one."

She eyed him, chanced the statement. "I hear you're pretty unique yourself."

The laughter abated and he turned serious. "All leaders must be, or they're no better than the throng of mindless animals they lord over." He paused and eyed her again, more warily this time. "What have you heard, if I may ask?" 

She shrugged one shoulder. "Just stories."

"Stories can be dangerous, Cordelia. You should be more circumspect of such things."

Her name on his tongue rolled off like fine wine. Something that reminded her of the good old vampire allure back on earth, the confidence and mysterious sex appeal in humans here blending in an identical shape and form as that of bloodsuckers back home. The thought made him suddenly less appealing and a lot more threatening. "I am wary," she responded quietly.

He heard the tremor there, could practically feel the fear and fascination radiating off of her all at once. _**That's more like it. And now, to solve the mystery of my darling Colonel's failure. Does Doyle have a new weapon so powerful at his disposal? I must find out.**_ "And how has Breia's hospitality been, my dear?"

She refrained from sniping at him over his litany of chauvinist pseudonyms, too guarded by the sudden change in subject. "She's been…nice?"

Saeryth's lips formed a straight line against his face. Yes, Breia had been acting strangely since he'd last seen her off to battle. And her complete and utter failure had not only been a disappointment, but a shock. Such as thing had never happened to her before. He turned slightly suspicious. _**Nothing like that had happened to Breia before SHE came here,**_ his mind told him. 

"Yes, I suppose Breia has been nice. Though truth be told, she is usually much more lively. I must apologize for her rather wan appearance earlier today. I fear that her strange defeat on the field during the battle has rather shaken her." He turned sorrowful eyes on Cordelia's own. "Breia is usually so strong when it comes to matters such as these. I cannot help but wonder if you could tell me what exactly happened out there, perhaps to shed some light on this rather troubling development." 

She turned away from his eyes, refusing to fall for the ploy. "I don't know what happened." 

"Let me tell you what I do know then."

She shrugged noncommittally, raised her knees and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin atop the kneecap and regarding him neutrally.

His brow arched. "You see, Cordelia Chase, there was, as a few of my men who escaped imprisonment had told me of a blinding light. As if the heavens had seen fit to rain upon them and snatch them from the very ground they fought on. But as quickly as it had come, it was then gone. And instead my fighters stopped. They were suddenly afraid, cowering like puppies on the ground. I must admit, most soldiers can be uncultured, uncivilized brutes, but they are trained to fight. Their reaction to that 'light' was rather unnatural. And that is all they could tell me before they were taken to the detoxification tent where…" his lips pursed, "where sadly, most of them will not survive the process." Of course there was really no detoxification tent, so much as there was a tent in which people who either failed or generally annoyed Saeryth were executed for their shortcomings, but Cordelia, as far as the General was concerned, need not know this. Such vulgar things were not meant for ladies' ears, after all. Saeryth smirked to himself.

"Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with me? I mean…I was just there too. Like your men were. I have no idea what happened," Cordelia lied, as fluidly as possible. 

"Well, my men were obviously useless in retelling the tale of their ignominious defeat, as their recollection of the occurrence was only muddled at best. But from what I am told, the Protective Army forces under that loathsome dog-creature were not similarly affected. In fact, they were exactly as they had been, perhaps even more energized, after the incident. One of even limited cerebral activity can't deny the strange coincidence the situation imposes." He eyed her, one eyebrow arched high on his imperious head. "As a, hopefully, former, officer for the enemy, I believe you might know what the cause of this travesty was. I beseech you Cordelia as a fellow, honorable human, to give me answers. Help me." 

She saw through every line of his complete BS of course. Knew that he was a liar, a charming bastard hiding behind cordiality and pretty words to indirectly strike at what he wanted, to make his opponents feel safe, feel charmed. "I…" she fought to find something to say that would not incur his immediate wrath. Subtlety had never been her strong suit.

He stood full, to his impressive height, shadow casting her out from the soft lamplight of the tent, imposing as he loomed over the bed. "Tell me what happened. We've the time." 

She had a feeling it wasn't a request.

~~~~~~~~

Maj came out of Doyle's room looking flustered, looking older than his years. His head drooped, his fur sagged, his claws scraped the floor as he walked. Gwyn jogged up to him; face flush to an almost cerulean shade, the excitement of battle, the exultation of victory. Her smile faded upon seeing him. "Sir, is the General…?"

"He's okay. Physically, at least."

"I ordered Jem to bring him some lunch," she noted, obligatorily. "I um, I heard what happened. She…she was too inexperienced to be out there," the Major allowed. 

"I don't think they've killed her, Gwyn. Something weird happened out on that field."

She looked at him strangely. "You don't think Breia's killed her? Colonel, sir, this is the same woman we've been fighting for nearly a decade; she's killed her own men for looking at her anywhere below the neck. Or for not." 

Maj allowed a ghost of a smile. "She cleansed them. Whole freaking bloody field of 'em, Gwyn. With those demon powers of hers."

Gwyn gave him a dubious look. "Is that why we have 300 prisoners and nowhere to put most of them?"

He nodded gravely. "Some of them are repentant, some of 'em are having episodes, some of them want out, back to their own army. It's weird."

Her expression turned to one of scientific interest. "Well, we can't expect all of them to come out of their evil ways in the same manner. Different personalities, different backgrounds, experiences, those all play a part of it, I'm sure."

Maj didn't look interested in semantics. "We've been fighting these bastards longer than I can remember, Gwyn. What if it was just that big ancient infection inside them that was making them do all those evil things? What if a lot of those guys underneath were really just normal, like us? It's too weird to think about, the numbers you kill. We could have murdered helpless people, doing things under the influence of somethin' more sinister."

"They were evil, sir, I think all's fair in killing them until they stop wanting to kill you back."

He laughed a little, humorlessly. "Always a soldier first eh, Major?"

She smiled a little more genuinely. "Well, someone around here has to be."

Maj turned back to glance furtively at the room door. "He wants to go after her tonight."

All traces of humor left her countenance at his announcement. "Maj, that's suicide. Odds are she's already dead, he can't possibly…"

"He wouldn't let me stop him. And hell, I liked that little girl a lot, but even I know it's not worth the risk."

Her eyes narrowed with disillusionment. "He's been more like that, lately."

"Like what?"

She looked at the wolf. "You've seen it. He's just been doing things mechanically, taking risks, not thinking about the bigger picture. And here he's going to ride off into the sunset on a suicide mission where the possibility for success is little to nothing. It's not worth it. He doesn't know."

"Doesn't know what?"

"How much this whole effort rides on him. He has no idea." 

Maj sighed, threw a look back at the ominous oak door. "Well, he better figure it out fast." 

~~~~~~~~

"There's nothing I can say that's going to stop you, is there?"

Doyle patted his steed on the nose perfunctorily before reaching for the bridle, hanging on the stall wall beside him. "You always knew this day might come, Maj. If I don' make it, you're gonna take over."

Maj smiled sourly, looked out over the landscape bathed in the lengthening shadows of the setting sun. "And the whole war goes down the drain, General."

Doyle threw him a look of reproach. "Maj, don' say that."

"Why not?" the normally amiable Colonel responded. "We all know it's true. It all rides on you, Doy. It's always been about you, and how you could pull us out of scrapes and save the entire world's sorry ass."

Doyle shook his head. "It never was. War can't be fought by one man, Maj."

"We need you! Don't you see that?" there was a distinct whine in his voice, but the wolf creature cared not. "Without you we fall to pieces."

"You'll fight on, Maj. You don't need me. Never have."

"Are you so damn naive? The day I run this army is the day Saeryth's humans overrun all of Kaylorin, Doy."

Exasperated, Doyle threw his saddle blanket on his steed a little too harshly, and the animal let out a snort of discontent. "Look, Maj. You just do what you've been doin' long before I was even here, okay? I don't make it, you know what to do."

Another sour laugh. "We can't. You know I'm just a soldier, Gen. You know I'd do whatever it takes to win, at any cost. And you know that's exactly how we'd lose."

Doyle looked slightly puzzled. "I don't follow."

"You care, Doyle. You care about every man woman and child out there we're protecting. You feel for our men. You feel it when they win; you feel it when they lose, when they kill, when they die. God! That's exactly why we need you. If it was just about winning, if it was just about overpowering, the Powers could have put any asshole they felt like as leader. But they chose you. Because you know what counts. You know that in the end, the only thing we're really fighting for is each other." 

Doyle sighed. "And that's what's been killing me slowly for three years, Maj!"

"Would have killed me in one," Maj responded evenly. "Which is why you're the General and I'm not. Which is why we need you. It hurts? Yeah. It's supposed to. That's how we win. We can win because you know the heart of the matter. Me? I might try, but when push comes to shove I don't give a dirty goddamn about the little nobody Corporal that got killed in a raid, who left behind two kids and a wife, a brother and a sister, a fuckin' DOG. I won't care, so long as we win. Fuck, I probably wouldn't even care about that guy if we lost. That's the difference between you and me, man. And that make's all the difference in the world. We're not fighting for anyone if not each other, and because you know that, we've been able to keep our heads above water. Not like I haven't tried to care as much, but I never will, and you know that as well as I do." 

Doyle clenched his jaw at the Colonel's uncharacteristic tirade. "You done?"

Maj took a long shuddering breath. "I think so."

The General mounted his horse without ceremony. "That's the kicker, Maj. I'm startin' to care less an' less. I've always been a selfish bastard in the end, ya see…even on Earth. Only reason I was ready ta die fer Cordy and Angel was cause I wouldn't a been able to live if either of 'em had gotten hurt, so me goin' made the most sense anyway, was selfish if ya look at it the right way. I didn't give a good goddamn about those other people, the demons they thought I was savin', not really. Was always about the people I loved. An' right now, I could give fuck all about this stupid damn war so long as Cordy came back. So you tell me if that makes a difference." He urged his horse out of the stall and rode out of the stable without a backwards glance.

Maj watched him go.

_Draw the shades to close my eyes  
I never want to see again  
I found the cost of courage high  
Sometimes hard to pay  
I hear the songs the sirens sing  
Calling on the shores for me  
So sell your soul and try to fly  
The tether still remains  
And all the finer things they laid upon my table  
Smiled as their hooks were slowly sinking in_


	13. Part XII: If It Ain't Broke

BPart XII: If It Ain't Broke…/BP  
  
ILate last night I tripped in violent shades of greenBR   
1000 voiceless faces were chasing me BR   
I ran through the air as thick as glue BR   
Through night as black as hate my spirit fled BR   
Through branches filled with thorns my eyes bled and bled BR   
How could I ever hope to win this race BR   
When every time I close my eyes I see your face?/IBR   
  
Doyle rode into the early evening, entirely unsure of what he was going to do but knowing that Cordelia was his responsibility and that he had to bring her back. He hadn't felt purpose for duty intertwined with passion like this in a long time. I**Not since the Quintessa.**/I It seemed everything since then had been done mechanically, with duty and with decorum, but never with all his heart. Of course, he desired war's end and peace as much as anyone else did; it was just that he would have preferred the whole ordeal to go forth without him, without being privy to his personal crises of faith to the cause, to his anguish over the graves of friends and even those of strangers.P   
  
He didn't know if he felt good or not. To have some sort of fire boiling under him once more. It was the vengeful type, yes, the type aroused wholly by anger at himself, at Maj, and Cordy, at Saeryth, at the injustice that was his life. He'd only started out to be a teacher, after all. It had been all he'd really wanted. Maybe a family, a nice house, a car that wasn't propped up by bricks more days of the year than it was actually on tires. But then, all of this. He looked around him, as he rode towards human territory, the borders on which the battles were oftentimes fought. He saw a landscape battered with countless generations of battle, burn-scarred rocks and blood-stained dirt. So close, these opposing forces were. He'd reach Saeryth's camp shortly after midnight. I**Then what, boyo? You don't even have a plan. Just rushin' in there…jumpin' in. Ya did that before, and look where it got ya.**/I He groaned and rubbed the throbbing bridge of his nose. So much responsibility. She was counting on him. She'd been his responsibility, to take care of, to be able to return to Angel, safe and sound, one day. He owed his friend, and himself, that much. P  
  
"Plan," he muttered to himself, urging his nameless black forward. "Think, man." P  
  
She'd be under heavy guard. Knowing Saeryth. Or she'd be dead. If she was…the throbbing in the back of his head expanded. She wasn't. Saeryth would try to draw information from her, among other things, the seductive bastard. And if he knew Cordy, she'd draw it out as long as possible. I**What the hell am I gonna do?**/I He could try for a covert rescue…find out where she was, take out the guards. Assuming he didn't run into any of the border patrols. I**Damn it. Damn it! I should just opt fer a trade…Saer wants me more'n he wants her, to kill, in any case. Wouldn't it be easier that way? Get her out, get it over with. Get everything over with…**/I he stopped himself at thoughts of death. Suicide was stupid. If he was going to die, he might as well be doing something worthwhile with it. I**Look where that got you the first time…**/I He growled and smacked his palm into his forehead. Everything seemed so hopeless. Sighing, he slumped into his mount. I**All right ya moody bastard. See if'n ya can't get her out covertly first, an' if not, you'll go fer the trade…** /IP  
  
~~~~~~~P  
  
"Like I said before, then…it just started getting bright…I don't know exactly what happened," she stated with an air of finality, weary from the day-long interrogation. I**Sure, he got called to go out after lunch to do stuff. I've been tied up and stuck talking to or waiting for him in HERE all day**/I she thought sulkily to herself, looking out the slit in the tent's door, at the sound of evening coming to life with the disappearance of sunlight. P  
  
"What weapon has Doyle found that holds that kind of power?" Saeryth inquired, looking more interested than disgusted that he'd been defeated in such a manner. He got points for looking at the glass as half full. P  
  
"I…I don't know," Cordelia told him hastily, still lying through her teeth and hoping to the PTBs that Saeryth was taking it all in. "I mean, I just got there when you attacked, it's not like they had time to explain anything to me before we had to rush out." P  
  
He heard that hitch again, there in her words as the thoughts connected rapidly to one another in her web of lies. He gave her points there, for being so quick witted, it was rather quite impressive. He looked her over once more. "It pains me to suggest this, Cordelia, but..." he grew cold again. "I think you're lying. Trying to protect your comrades perhaps, a worthy attempt, but logic forces me to regard your story with disbelief." P  
  
She tried to seem oblivious to his accusation, as if she couldn't fathom the logic behind it. In reality, her mind was flicking itself and calling her names. I**Stupid, stupid, stupid, why did you have to get a villain who thinks? What ever happened to the good old Batman baddies of the week?**/I she thought rather self pityingly. P  
  
He leaned forward and grasped her chin seductively in his hand. "And on observing you these past few hours, observing how utterly enchanting you are, how intelligent, how quick witted, I have reached what I believe to be a rather fitting conclusion." He paused for drama, for a breath, for a triumphant look to be shared between enemies. "I think that you're the weapon," he stated rather bemusedly. P  
  
He watched when Cordelia started visibly at the accusation, her russet eyes widening like saucers for a split second, and in that, he saw that he was getting somewhere. P  
  
She tried to pull out of his grasp, but the gentleness tightened into something firm. "What makes you think that?" she asked, bringing her hands up to tug weakly at his forearm in resistance. "I could just be an entertaining conversationalist."P  
  
He snorted, pretense of suggestiveness gone once he had latched on to the right scent. "Oh please, dearest. Give me some credit. The day you arrive and something this large happens almost immediately? The coincidence is beyond reproof." He gently released her face and stood straight up again, at the side of the bed. "What I've yet to figure out now, is how to get this to work to my advantage…" P  
  
Cordelia was struck with the unfairness of it all. The villains in Superman couldn't even discern he was Clark Kent because of a dinky pair of glasses and she gets the guy who, from the looks of things, could do a whole Rubix cube in the time it took to brush his teeth. "I…"P  
  
Seeing her hesitation, he smiled in triumph. "So I was correct."P  
  
She made as if to protest.P  
  
He cut her off with a wave of her hand. "There's no use protesting my dear, I can see I've hit the target head on. Now please. Tell me how you work."P  
  
She bit her bottom lip as his eyes lit up, the prospect of uncovering a magnificent secret, something that might just win him the whole shebang. Like he'd go right through her for his answers. "I honestly…I'm not sure how I work," she responded. Seeing that he seemed to take her answer at face value (he really was good at discerning lies and truths… how absolutely frustrating!) she decided to try and turn the tables on him. The clues had been pointing all day towards him, and something she might venture to call gut instinct was niggling at the bottom of her belly (though it may just have been the extremely dry bread…) about General Saeryth. "I was sent here by the Powers That Be."P  
  
Saeryth looked amused at the obviousness of her statement. "They were all sent here by the Powers, my dear." The condescending note in his voice made her grit her teeth. P  
  
"Will you let me finish?" she ground out, without thinking. P  
  
He raised a brow at her. "Quite a short temper I see," he observed archly, though he seemed more amused than annoyed. "But my sincerest apologies. Please, do continue."P  
  
"Like I was saying, I was sent here with these strange powers, and a mission," she stated. "But it's kind of fuzzy."P  
  
"It's been my experience that omniscient beings, or those who believe they are, in any case, tend to try and be haughtily vague," he agreed, disdainfully. P  
  
"Well yeah. They told me to look for an anomaly," she started, looking at him to catch his reaction. Seeing that he'd frozen a bit, she continued, encouraged. "They want me to find someone different, someone who stands out above the crowds," she continued. "And they want me to help him win this war. That's all they'd tell me. And here I am." Maybe, just maybe, she could lure him in. Cleanse him. The more she saw of him, the more convinced she was that he was her mission here. Wasn't it obvious? To make good of the very leader of the opposing armies seemed the most surefire way to aid Doyle in his effort to save this dimension. And so far, all the clues had clicked conveniently into place. She would heal him of the blight, whatever evil had infected his kind millennia ago. P  
  
He, seeing the wheels turning in her head but deciding that perhaps there was more to this than he could immediately discern, only appeared thoughtful. "Nothing is ever as it seems with the Powers…" he pondered aloud. "Perhaps, you were truly sent here to assure my victory?"P  
  
I**He may be smart but he's still as much of a glory hound as anyone else in military service.**/I Outwardly, she just shrugged. "I'm not sure. Do you feel out of place here?"P  
  
"Every day," he responded without hesitation. "Have you seen those animals out there? eating and scratching and rolling in their own filth like content swine? They all disgust me." P  
  
"Well, that might be it," she responded, neutrally. *I*Hello superiority complex. Though all the clues seem to be pointing here. Guess he's the one?**/I P  
  
"Or…" he regarded her with amusement. "…the Powers did precisely as planned and placed you in the exact position to commence with your mission in the most expedient manner possible. You never really know with supposedly 'higher' beings, and I for one refrain from trusting in them, or giving credence to their omniscience altogether." P  
  
She studied him a moment. "But still, you never know." P  
  
"No, I suppose not." He clasped his hands behind his back and watched her hawkishly. "You've still not told me what it is you do to them, Cordelia. What changes them? What makes them differ so between each other even as the final result of the same treatment? It's really quite baffling." P  
  
I**Oh, that sounds like a queue**/I Cordelia thought, standing up (though progress was slow due to her bound hands). "Are you really that curious?" she asked gently. P  
  
He watched her, she could see the wariness in his eyes, but to his credit, he didn't step back, didn't falter in his expression. P  
  
"You're different, I can feel it. Maybe you'll end up different too," she whispered, regarding him with studious expression, like she was trying to suss him out through the spark in his eyes alone. P  
  
This time he did step back, reading something in her expression that he didn't care for. Something more demure than before, something completely and utterly sure of itself. He looked her up and down cagily. "Perhaps you should sit down," he intoned.P  
  
"Maybe you should be the one to sit," she responded lightly, feeling her blood begin to warm, to hum in preparation under her skin. "And close your eyes."P  
  
~~~~~~~~P  
  
It seemed like fate didn't want him to reach the encampment. Doyle eyed his traitor horse out of the corner of his eye. Damn thing had to come up lame. If the stupid beast had a name, he would have cursed at it so prolifically the Powers themselves would be able to hear. As it was, he could barely keep the frustrated scream within the confines of his throat, having to remind himself constantly that human border patrols were probably within earshot to do so. With his luck they were over the next ridge. So instead, he sat on a rock under a tree while his equestrian companion grazed indolently at his side, looking for all the world as if nothing was wrong, save for a slight favoring of the front left leg. Doyle scowled and tossed a pebble at it. I**So, now what? You walk and you won't get there 'til daybreak, boyo. You always hafta take the same horse, dontcha? Animal doesn't even have a damn name. Out of some misplaced loyalty, must be. Shoulda taken one o' the fresh ones that didn't go inta the battle…**/I P  
  
He grunted and threw another pebble at his mount, the horse leaning against the rock, looking back at Doyle with dark eyes that seemed to berate him for his lack of empathy. The horse was lame, after all. Doyle ignored him. P  
  
Well, he could walk towards the camp. He'd get there by morning. And thus his chances of sneaking Cordy off into the night had gone from slim to nil. He'd hoped, some part of him had in any case, that he'd be able to slide into the camp under cover of darkness, incapacitate her guards, and have the two of them slip off into the shadows. He laughed humorlessly to himself. That sounded like something Angel could pull off, not him. The trade had been his best chance after all. Looking at his horse once more, he stood up off the rock and began to unpack a canteen of water and some field rations to carry with him. The animal, limping, butted him in the shoulder with its nose. P  
  
He tried to scowl at it, but realized that was just stupid. "Stay here," he muttered, giving it a mandatory pat before moving out of the small clearing. He heard the animal shuffle, trying to follow despite its limp. He turned around. "Stupid animal. Look here, horse…" he grabbed its reins and stared it in the eye. "Stay put, would ya? I'll tell Cordy to come get ya on her way back…" P  
  
It nudged the side of its face against his hand. P  
  
Doyle eyed it curiously. "Uh, thanks?" shaking his head, he turned around again and headed off. P  
  
~~~~~~~~~P  
  
She wasn't either afraid or in awe of him any more. In fact, it looked as if she'd unlocked some great mystery to the universe and was ready to share it with him. Whatever it was, the tables seemed turned and he wasn't sure whether it made him want to ravish or kill her more. He eyed her standing there, watched her take a deep breath before committing herself. P  
  
"Your boldness is intriguing," he muttered, not having been faced with a situation such as this before. He quirked his head sideways, studying her curiously. P  
  
She looked at him with calm eyes. "The rules all point to you," she told him, just as cryptic as the Powers she'd denounced before.P  
  
"My dear, I don't play by any set of rules but my own," he responded coolly, stepping towards her, hoping to intimidate her back into a nature more subdued, more fitting of a prisoner of war. P  
  
Instead, she stepped forward too, closed the distance between them until he stood, not a foot from her. "Maybe it's time you did," she responded, voice warm, inviting. The temperature of the tent suddenly escalated. She held out her hands to him.   
His brow furrowed, trying to see what she was playing at. It was as if some foreign force had taken up residence inside of her and was making her do these things he'd so previously discerned as out of her character. Her face was flushed golden, and there seemed a spirit of energy returned to her. He took her by the wrist of one arm, if only to see if she was indeed as warm as she appeared, mind not working, body functioning automatically, out of some strange, newly developed instinct. It was a mistake he'd soon be kicking himself for.P   
  
The fingers of her other hand curled around his and at the touch he was all but incapacitated, his brain screaming at his muscles to withdraw, though her fingers stayed firmly wrapped around the offending appendage. He struggled to pull back with his whole body, but she held firm with some physically invisible force, and pulled him even closer. The palms of both hands came up against his chest. P  
  
A light started burning at the places where he touched her; he could feel his blood reacting under his skin, to her presence. He tried to pull out from such close proximity again, expression wide and slightly panicked as his mind raced in search of a way to free himself. His instincts bade him to flee from the threat she truly presented. Everything about her began to seem more and more off-putting. P  
  
Light began pouring from the orifices of her head, from her fingertips, the edges of her skin. Dully, his mind wondered if she'd explode. It warmed, starting a fuzzy yellow, like hot embers in the fire pits. The light began to expand outwards from her, her skin growing whiter, the reach of her luminosity extending far beyond her own body and encircling his, causing the entire tent to throb with explosive brightness. He opened his mouth to try and stop her, futilely, his voice was lost in the sensations of his blood, boiling beneath his skin, of something piercing his skin, his body, straight into his essence, like a hand groping around his insides in search of lost treasure. It felt like a rip in his very soul, punctured by the light that poured from Cordelia's body, invading him, violating his essence. P  
  
He fought it with every fiber of his being. P  
  
Cordelia pushed her hands against his chest, allowing for her demonic powers to reach into him, to try and pull out the darkness that infected his mind and body. The darkness always felt cold. A burning cold. She leaned her body against his, closer still, seeking to destroy. And when she found it, she could feel her powers begin their work, begin flushing it out of him and trying to shake its hold on him, the work of thousands of invisible arms. P  
  
Still, he resisted her. He should have slumped from the exhaustion now, should have fallen over at the force with which he'd been hit. Instead, he stood firm, pushing back even as she wrapped herself against him to try and expedite the process. P  
  
As her physical body did, her demon essence also felt the resistance, found that the darkness stood firm against the tsunami wave of her efforts, loosened only slightly, tenaciously holding on to the ground in which it had been residence of for so long. Redoubling her efforts, she amassed her concentration onto one spot, rooted around until she usurped his staying power and lifted with one great heave, the evil in its entirety.P   
  
He could likewise feel a part of himself being ripped away; felt the internal shaking as her confounded powers invaded every orifice of his body, a disease of warm light. He snarled. She couldn't have it. Whatever she was taking away from him, he wouldn't let her get it. Saeryth, unlike so many, was completely content with who he was, every aspect of it, every good quality, every fault. He refused to let her steal something within him to keep for herself. He needed it. P  
  
She didn't know whether it was his resistance, his willfulness to stop her invasion of his psyche or the sheer amount of evil in him, but suddenly there was rejection, she could feel herself withdrawing far too fast. And just like that, her powers pulled out of him, swirling back at her at light speed, leaving the room dark to and painful to the eyes. She staggered back from the force, landed back onto the bed with a startled yelp.P  
  
Saeryth in contrast, was slammed backwards and into the bookshelf when his dark essence was catapulted back within himself, settling back into its original foothold with a decided, organ shaking thud. The back of his head slammed against the wood of the bookcase unceremoniously, sending a myriad of volumes to the floor, sending a glass bauble plummeting, to shatter into shimmering grains on the ground beside him. He slumped, unconscious.P  
  
Cordelia held her head in her hands, blinking dumbly at the roof of the tent. "What the hell just happened?" she muttered, groaning to find the muscle required to sit up.P   
  
Breia rushed in, having been near enough to hear it when the crash occurred.  
"Sir? General?" She bent down and tenderly nudged him, put her fingers on the back of his head to search for blood. When Cordelia groaned and sat up, her attention turned to the prisoner. "What happened?"P  
  
"I don't know…I was trying… he…" P  
  
Breia frowned. "You threw him?" P  
  
"Yeah… something like that." Cordelia rubbed tiredly at her temples. "Is he okay?"P  
  
"Unconscious," Breia responded, looking him over, feeling only a slight wetness at her fingertips where she'd touched him. "He's bleeding." P  
  
"Oh." Cordelia looked around nervously. "He wouldn't…oh…kill me for that, would he?"P  
  
The colonel started. "I hadn't thought of that. I mean… he generally dislikes striking females, considers it ungentlemanly." She looked at the blood drying between her fingertips. "He would kill you," she finished, weak. P  
  
Cordelia swallowed. "Maybe he wasn't the one."P  
  
"What?"P  
  
"Nothing."P  
  
"We have to get you out of here," Breia stated, standing up. "He will be out for a time yet. We must…"P  
  
Cordelia was stunned. I**That I wasn't expecting.**/I "How? I mean, there are guards and stuff, aren't there? And the army?"P  
  
Breia stood up and drew a knife from her boot. "I have no men, remember?" she asked. "They were taken. Saeryth has been busy with you all day and had not time to send me more. There are few guards and cooks around. The camp is dark…we'll, we'll get you a horse." She used the dagger to cut away the rope binding Cordelia's hands.P  
  
Still bewildered, the younger girl looked up, eyes full of questions. "Wont this get you in trouble?"P  
  
The Colonel chanced a look back at her commanding officer. "He won't know. Come." She took Cordelia's hand and led her out of the tent, creeping them behind it. "Stay here…stay hidden," she instructed, placing the former prisoner behind a nearby tree. "I will prepare a mount." Without waiting for an answer, she snuck off into the night.P  
  
~~~~~~~~~P  
  
Doyle had made good time. Five miles on foot and it was only the ninth hour. He would have been faster but evasion of a border patrol three miles back had cost him thirty minutes as they road past and he was forced to hide until they were assuredly gone. Then he had trudged on, directly towards the faint glows of campfires that could be seen in the distance. He would be there by morning, before sunrise. Little comfort. P  
  
Sighing, he scratched at the stitches on his arm and wondered what Maj would say to the men during morning announcements when his absence would be noted by the army en masse. It had pained him to reveal to his friend the slow, methodical destruction of his empathy by war, had hurt to lose that idealism that everyone seemed to look at him with, like he could change the tide by hoping enough, by caring enough. He couldn't. He'd never been able to, of course. He just hated to let everyone down. They'd believed in him. To reveal he was starting to care less and less seemed like betrayal. I**But it's true. It takes too much energy to be so concerned now…energy that you don't have, man.**/I   
He trudged on. What little fire he could conjure up came only with Cordelia's face behind his eyelids. He needed to get her back. He was responsible for tens of thousands of deaths, hers would not be one of them. All the nameless, faceless men he'd helped slaughter, if their deaths effected him so, how would hers? Unthinkable. He could not be responsible for her loss. He'd risked everything before, to see her safe, to think his efforts would be self-thwarted made his insides quiver in unpleasant ways. I**She's in love,**/I he reminded himself. I**She's in love with Angel. She has so much waiting for her. Not like me.**/I He remembered that her life had always been worth more than his, in his own eyes. She would live. She would. Even if he did not. P  
  
ILate last night I tripped in violent shades of green BR  
1000 voiceless faces were chasing me BR  
I ran through the air as thick as glue   
Through night as black as hate my spirit fled BR  
Through branches filled with thorns my eyes bled and bled BR  
How could I ever hope to win this race BR  
When every time I close my eyes I see your face?P  
  
~~~~~~~~~~/I 


	14. Part XIII: If You Should Return To Me

**Part XIII: If You Should Return To Me**

_I hear the wind  
Call your name  
It calls me back  
Home again  
Sparks up the fire  
The flame that still burns  
It's to you   
I'll always return_

I can still feel your breath  
On my skin  
I hear your voice  
Deep within  
Sound of my lover  
I'm feeling so strong  
It's to you  
I'll always belong

Now I know it's true  
My every road leads to you  
And in the hour of darkness  
Your life gets me through

I want to swim in your river  
Be warmed by your sun  
Bath in your waters  
Cause you are the one  
I can't stand the distance  
I can't dream alone  
I can't wait to see you  
Yes I'm on my way

I hear the wind   
Call your name  
The sound that leads me  
Home again  
It sparks up the fire  
A flame that still burns  
It's to you   
I'll always return

**I can't believe it didn't work!!!** Cordelia thought in irritation as she followed Breia's directions and urged her horse up the ridge and around the remains of the battlefield. _**Whistler GAVE me enough clues!! They all matched!!!**_ She harrumphed rather dramatically. It had been so obvious. Saeryth met all prerequisites regarding the Powers' instructions that she'd been able to discern, hell, the man himself had confessed to posses the needed traits himself, though not in so many words. Why were the Powers so cruel? She muttered a litany of profanity to herself and headed in the direction Breia had indicated, towards the Protective Army's fortress complex. _**If it wasn't Saeryth, I'm right back to square one. What the hell? Doyle said there were freaking 2 million humans on the planet!! What if the guy I'm looking for isn't even BORN yet? What if it's not a GUY?**_ These thoughts hit her in rapid succession, and with each additional, her weariness increased tenfold, her apprehension and her annoyance double that. _**Stupid, stupid! Find an anomaly, he says, find the KEY he says…who's more key than the big bad leader?! The Powers have to have a complaint box somewhere…**_

She sighed and looked up at the moon. It was a lopsided yellow crescent resting low in the sky, hardly auspicious as far as moons went, stuck somewhere between transition, almost gone, but not quite. It hung in the air amidst twinkling stars far smaller than it itself was and though the stars were perhaps more beautiful, they were quite less significant in the light that the moon provided for her and her mount. For the time being, in any case. _**What an ugly sky**_ she couldn't help but think. _**The moon looks like the light could give out any second now.**_

She wondered if Doyle was looking for her. Or if he thought she was already dead. She wondered what the hell had happened back in Breia's tent, with Saeryth. It was like she hadn't been able to handle him, like the darkness inside of him hadn't wanted to go anywhere, had decided quite adamantly that it preferred his company, like a sentient being. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps he preferred its company. In either case, she'd felt everything she'd been trying to pull from his soul rubber-band back into his body with such force that it knocked them both back, her to the bed (thankfully) and he into unconsciousness. And thus he had rejected her, rejected the light. He had been so cold and indifferent that the evil had gone back to its owner seemingly under its own volition. It was so much a part of him even her own significant powers had no ability to withdraw them from Saeryth. _**Fine, he wants to be that way, let him,**_ she huffed mentally, an air of finality in her tone. She'd just have to finish her mission at a later time. Possibly forever. She sighed. 

She picked her way carefully over a rocky patch of earth, listening for the telltale signs of the border patrols Breia had warned her of. Truth be told, for an enemy, that woman was pretty good. In the future, Cordelia wouldn't mind enemies exactly like her. She'd gotten her a horse, had snuck her out of the camp undetected, had given her food and water and directions that would allow her to be home before sunrise. _**Providing one of those patrols doesn't find you and kill you.**_

Wearily, she opened the canteen hanging around her neck and took a sip. There was so much yet to do, she didn't even know where to begin. And she worried. Was Doyle okay? What about Maj? Had she been able to save him from her own foolishness? She even imagined worrying for Breia. Would her escape be blamed on her? Had someone seen the colonel sneaking her out of camp? And knowing Saeryth, the man might just kill her on a whim, or as an example. And her own quest was no nearer to completion. She took a deep breath and shook her head. Too many hours alone on the trail was enough to drive someone batty. Too much solitude was unhealthy. 

~~~~~~~

Doyle cursed savagely and plopped onto the ground, pulling his boot off and dislodging the handful of pebbles that had somehow found their way inside over the course of the miles. In the back of his mind he wondered if the Powers really didn't want him saving Cordy--because she was alive, damn it—with all the impediments they were throwing in his way. He'd had to dodge another border patrol as they'd double backed on the trails, his progress slower than he'd thought when he'd heard their hoof beats so close by. Weary from the tribulations, he slammed his boot back on and lay down for a moment, looking up at the midnight sky. 

All of this was driving him crazy. He bit back the urge to go and find that border patrol and take the entire group out just because he needed to vent his frustrations. He laughed humorlessly at the thought. It seemed both Pacifist-Doyle and Self-Preservationalist-Doyle had been clubbed over the head and tossed into the supply closet of Doyle-Command-Central by his dreaded alter ego, Die-Bastards-Die-Doyle. After a minute of musing over the actual merits of slaughtering an entire patrol, he sat up again and pushed himself to his feet. If he thought too much about his situation it would drive him insane. Rubbing his tired eyes, he took a deep breath and began to walk again.

He stopped when he heard the telltale signs of an approaching horse, the steady thump of hooves at an easy, ground-eating lope. It was headed in his direction. How strange that there was only one. 

Always on the alert for discrepancies in normal behavior patterns in the enemy, Doyle slid off the trail and into the surrounding brush, melting into the darkness as he'd learned on earth, when being inconspicuous on the streets of Los Angeles had been all the difference between life and death, between avoiding the bookie and paying your debts with your life. 

But instead of avoidance, he sought his enemy out, to sate his curiosity, to possibly vent the frustrations he had been lamenting only moments before. His sword felt solid against his back, and he drew it ever so slowly, the scrape of metal barely perceptible even to his own ear. He closed in on the sounds, those that belonged to equine and not the familiar wilderness. He heard no clink of metal amour, as was normal in border patrol riders. Perhaps this was a civilian? Some were known to make their homes deep in the surrounding woodlands, or even underground. Of course that didn't mean the lone-horseman couldn't catch up to him, mistake him for a person, and shoot him for food. It was better to be safe. 

Crouching low to the ground he approached the horse in the darkness, he could see its shape now in the distance, as well as the blob that sat atop it, as the animal picked its way through the more troublesome underbrush step by step. He held his sword loosely, not poised to strike until he could catch a picture of the person in the moonlight. 

~~~~~~~~

Cordelia took another sip from her canteen, weary from hours on the trail, looking no closer to clearing the woodland ridge and finding the broken path that would lead her back to the army complex. Her butt hurt from the bumpy road, her back from sitting up so long, her head from every stupid thought about her mission here. 

The horse on the other hand, was content with finding the best footing the uneven ground could offer. She looked up at the star- the Galaxy Star was what Breia had called it…she supposed that was Kaylorin's North Star. She was to stay south of it on her journey. 

As she approached a particularly difficult growth of underbrush, her horse slowed to pick its way through. The rustling of its hooves against the grass was not a unique sound to her at this point in the ride, so when she heard movement to her right, she gave a small start and stiffened, head snapping in the direction of the noise. When she saw nothing, she pulled the reins of her mount in an effort to stay still. _**What was that?**_ she thought, eyes darting in all directions. She strained to hear, squinted to see into the inky blackness. If she concentrated, she could hear the slightest misplacement of grass and leaves, it was near. She felt as if she were being watched, felt like something was poised over her, deadly and quiet, waiting to strike. 

She didn't know what to do. 

_**Go with what you know,**_ she encouraged herself. 

With that thought, she took a deep breath and sat up straight in the saddle, an air of demanding authority in her posture, despite the fear in her rapidly beating heart. "Who's there?" she called out, voice assertive, ordering an answer. The rustling leaves grew louder.

~~~~~~~~~

He was within twenty yards of the horseman when his stepped onto a miniature shrub. He cursed internally when the little twigs and leaves rustled under his foot, and watched the rider's reaction without breathing. Their head snapped in his direction, whatever they had been preoccupied with moments before forgotten at an unnatural sound in the natural wood. He stayed completely still, waiting the other's apprehension to dissolve, for the rider to chalk up the noise as a forest animal and no more. It pained his already sore leg muscles to do so, and he bit down on his bottom lip to keep from groaning aloud. 

Seconds later, he shifted his weight to the leg that had met clear ground, and gingerly lifted the foot that had crashed into the brush so unceremoniously. The relief on that leg was fabulous. 

The rider still seemed to be listening for him, trying to discern what might be out there. After a moment, he saw the shoulders square, the head rise up to full height. _**Hey…that kinda looks like Cor…**_

"Who's there?"

His mind didn't have to finish the thought. When he heard the voice, he knew. 

Eagerly, he pushed his way out.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

At first there was no response to her inquiry. Though she hadn't really expected one, calling out "Who's There?" in the middle of the woods usually didn't garner answers, not from all the horror movies she'd seen in her lifetime in any case. This was usually the point in the movie where the heroine was…

She jumped when the rustling became more pronounced, nothing a wild animal would do. Which actually meant that any second now some psychotic killer was going to leap out of the trees with a chainsaw and a mask and…

"Cordelia? Princess? That you?"

"Doyle?" she called back, watching as a figure materialized out of the darkness not 10 yards from where she herself was situated. She nearly laughed out loud at the relief and dismounted her horse without a second thought. Upon seeing that it truly was Doyle's face in the sallow light, she released the sigh she'd been holding and moved to embrace him. Chuckled slightly in disbelief himself, but accepted her hug readily, if not easily. 

"Been lookin for ya, Princess," he murmured into her hair. 

She pulled back to look at him, her russet eyes sparkling mirth. "My God, that was anticlimactic."

He laughed a little and released his hold on her. "So long as you came back to me, Delia, I don't care if it was the least adventurous of yer adventures ever." 

"It's good to be back." She looked around, the woods still dark and foreboding. "Well, it's good to be with you again in any case," she corrected. 

"It's good to be with you too, Princess." 

_I hear the wind   
Call your name  
It calls me back  
Home again  
Sparks up the fire  
The flame that still burns  
It's to you   
I'll always return_

I can still feel your breath  
On my skin  
I hear your voice  
Deep within  
Sound of my lover  
I'm feeling so strong  
It's to you  
I'll always belong

Now I know it's true  
My every road leads to you  
And in the hour of darkness  
Your life gets me through

I want to swim in your river  
Be warmed by your sun  
Bath in your waters  
Cause you are the one  
I can't stand the distance  
I can't dream alone  
I can't wait to see you  
Yes I'm on my way home  
I'm on my way 

I hear the wind   
Call your name  
The sound that leads me  
Home again  
It sparks up the fire  
A flame that still burns  
It's to you   
I'll always return


	15. Part XIV: In Death All Things Are Reveal...

**Part XIV: In Death All Things Are Revealed**

_I am the blood, I am released  
Come make me pure  
Bleed me a cure  
I'm caught, I'm caught, I'm caught under _

Caught under wheels roll  
I take the leech I'm bleeding me  
Can't stop to save my soul  
I take the leash that's leading me   
I'm bleeding me  
Ooh, I can't take it  
I can't take it  
I can't take it  
Oh, oh the bleeding of me 

Ooh, come on baby 

I'm digging my way  
I'm digging my way to something   
I'm digging my way to something better 

I'm pushing to stay  
I'm pushing to stay to something  
I'm pushing to stay to something better 

They'd opted to ride double on her horse back to the base, slowing the pace so that the animal wouldn't exhaust itself. Doyle sat in the front, reigns in hand, with Cordelia's arms circled around his middle, her cheek relaxed against his shoulder blade. He didn't ask her anything, what she'd endured, how she'd escaped. Of course he wanted to know, but he wasn't sure he could take it right then. He'd faced enough horrors in one day, and this being the first break he'd gotten in forever, he decided to let himself savor it for a bit, however brief. Cordelia had been returned to him, and he would be happy with that, if for only a small time. 

He could feel her breath on his back, calm, steady breaths as she let him pick his way back to the base, let him be the one to listen for the border patrols and the other nasties in the night that might come for them. He was used to it, in any case, people letting him take charge a situation without having to ask him to. It seemed to come with the territory more and more. So he stayed on the alert, muscles tense and ready for any action, the sheath of his sword strapped to the saddle instead of his back to accommodate his Princess. 

He rode like this for an hour, at a gentle gait towards the place where he'd left his own horse, that misbegotten sense of loyalty telling him he had promised to come back for the stupid beast. It would be a wonder if the thing was still there at all. He personally, wouldn't be surprised if it had gone in search of greener pastures. He would, given the chance. 

The thunder of hoof beats snapped his bitter musings like twigs underfoot, and he stiffened in the saddle. They sounded close. Twitching, he turned his head gingerly to look at Cordelia, whose eyes were shut, probably trying to catch up on hours of lost sleep. "Princess? Cordy!" He nudged her with his shoulder. 

"What?" she sat up instantly, almost fast enough to throw her from her seat. "Doyle? What's going on?" 

"Border patrol, I think," he responded quietly. "Otherwise someone found out you were missin' and came after you."

She stiffened. "What do we do?" 

"If it's a search party, they'll be lookin' for our trail especially, Delia. An' we haven't been too careful 'bout covering our tracks." His mouth was set in a grim line.

"And that means…?"

"That means you stay here, an' I'll have to go take care of 'em." 

Her eyes widened. "Doyle! That's one against like… a lot! I don't like those odds."

He shook his head and dismounted, ignoring her fears. "Border patrols are made up of 5 to 12 people, Delia. If I stay in the dark, I can surprise 'em. It'll be safer that way than chancin' their catchin' up to us." He helped her down from her mount, without asking her. "You stay here, with the horse, hide…" He jerked his chin in the direction of a particularly thick copse of trees. "Stay there, don't make a sound. If I'm not back in two hours time, head south of…" he stopped to point upwards.

"Yeah, yeah, the Galaxy Star. I know." She diverted his attention from the night sky, turning back to what she was really concerned about. "Doyle, this isn't safe."

He laughed, but it was laced with irony rather than humor. "It's never been safe, Cordy."

He didn't wait for her rejoinder, instead, taking his scabbard and tossing it across his shoulder before stalking off into the night with nary a backwards glance.

She could only stand there holding the reins and watch him walk away. 

~~~~~~~~

He walked for twenty minutes in the direction he'd heard them approaching, knowing they'd cut the distance down by more than half on horseback. He could still hear the sounds of their horses braying in the distance, seemingly unnatural in the background of nature here, out of synch with the chirp of the crickets and the flutter of bats' wings. They were far too close for his comfort. When he strained to listen, he could hear the sound of muffled voices, they engaged in some chatter for a while before the galloping sounded once more, fading in different directions. _**That's odd,**_ he thought, brow furrowing. _**If they're trailin' us they wouldn't need ta split up…less they can't see the tracks…** _

The sound of a lone horse approaching fast bade him hide. He slipped into the shadows cast by the leaves of trees in full summer bloom and waited in silence. Twenty minutes of waiting and the sounds of snapping twigs drew nearer; he heard the animal slow slightly to find footing in the forest brush. Then, with a rustle of leaves, the rider trotted into his line of sight, 50 feet from where he had hidden himself. He watched her dismount then, to read trail on the ground, and the flash of flaxen hair in starlight made him catch his breath. He shook his head. _**Can't be…he wouldn't send her out…not at this hour…**_ He squinted to study the horse… a bay Andalusian. _**It is her.**_ Images of her flashed in his mind, scenes from fights long ago, scenes where he'd seen her cut down his comrades without so much as a hint of mercy, good people who he'd grown to care about left lifeless and bloody in her wake. Scenes of battle where Saeryth's lover had raided a Protective Army village on the farthest northern border called Kayvne, leaving the bodies of headless women and children strung up like piñatas for miles replayed in his mind. All pretense of a sneak attack eluded him when he recalled the wails of those in his army who had hailed from the province, who had had their families slaughtered while they were away at war.

He stood up, stalked forward.

Hearing the noise, Breia gave a start, looked up from her kneeling position to see none other than the Commander of the Protective Armies standing before her. She stood up quickly.

"You…" Doyle's eyes glittered dangerously as he realized who it was. He drew his sword slowly, the metal scraping sound echoing, breaking the thick silence. 

"General?" She looked apprehensive, saw the sword in his hand and backed up a step in an act of supplication. "Sir…I…I came to check on Cordelia."

"You won't say that name, Breia!" he spat, lunging forward. 

She ducked the hasty swipe of his sword, heard the metal sing overhead, cutting the air where she'd been only moments before. She drew her own sword to block his next downward thrust, the only means of defending herself against his furious onslaught. "Pax, General Doyle! Pax!" she cried, jumping backwards, into a defensive position. Her breath came out shallow; she actually appeared to be afraid. "I beg mercy!" 

"You took her!" he accused, and she sensed more anguish in his tone than fury. "You made me think she was dead! Or hurt! You don' get mercy, Breia!" 

"I'm sorry!" she assented, tears welling in her eyes. She blinked them back, stubbornly. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Liar," he murmured. She expected him to fall for this? The lover of his enemy, a woman who had killed countless scores of his men, thousands of innocents, dozens of his friends? Did she think him so naïve? "Saeryth's mind games won't work here. Whatever you're gettin' at, I won't let it work." He swung at her again, and she only blocked. 

"No mind games!" she countered hastily, their swords ringing against each other as she defended herself desperately. "I've…I've come to help."

He actually laughed out loud at that. "You? Help? Oh God, do I look like one o' your idiot foot soldiers, Colonel? Spare me yer lies. What, you've come ta help me'n Cord like you helped Aur? Like you helped all the people you've killed?" He spun to her weak side and kicked her feet out from underneath her, sending her falling to the earth. She rolled aside before he could run her through. "We don't want that kind of help," he finished, unfazed at having missed, poised for more attack. 

She faltered at his accusations, felt her stance drop, felt her weight shift the wrong way. It was true. Why should he believe her? Redemption had to be earned… she could not expect those she'd so grievously wronged to forget the crimes she'd committed against them by simply saying she was sorry. "I…I can't take those back," she murmured, looking at the weapon in her hands. How many people had she killed with it? How much blood had been drawn and spilled? Doyle's anger, the hatred for her she saw in his eyes seemed like justice. That the most praised, the most noble of the creatures…of the Protective Army… saw fit to disdain her seemed well deserved. Her eyes narrowed. "Avenge them, then," she challenged, looking him straight in the eye, refusing to back down. "Give them peace." 

His eyes were like shards of glass, the sickly moon illuminating the anger and hatred there, the pure loathing and even the distant, frustrated helplessness. "I plan to." 

~~~~~~~

Cordelia stood nervously alongside her horse in the bushes, every sound in the night seeming dangerous, out to get her. She waited impatiently for Doyle's return, for word that the noise they'd heard was a deer, or a wild boar, or some other such animal that had no plans to kill them should it come across their path. She rubbed the neck of the horse, who looked far too calm considering their position. It regarded her with placid eyes.

"What's taking him so long?" she asked it, more to kill the silence than to get an answer. It cocked its head at the sound of her voice but did nothing else. "He should be back by now," she added, craning her neck in the direction she'd last seen him heading. Her brow furrowed. Had something happened to him? Had he been captured? Anxious, she resolved to go and find him in five minutes if he wasn't back, regardless of his implicit directions. 

That was when the vision hit her.

She was thrown back to Saeryth's camp, where Breia knelt over her lord, swiping at the back of his head gently with a cloth, as he groaned and floated back to consciousness, eyes deceptively beautiful as they fluttered open in a flurry of long lashes and foggy cerulean. He looked almost innocent when disconcerted. 

"Sir? Are you all right?" 

He groaned and sat up. "What the hell happened, Colonel?"

"I'm not sure, sir…I just happened in on you and saw you lying here," Breia lied. By the way she did it; one could tell she'd done it many times before. "The prisoner is escaped."

The General's eyes widened and he jerked his head to look at her, making himself nauseous. "How? There are guards, dammit!" he spat, though quietly, for his own benefit.

She shook her head. "She must be quite stealthy, my lord," she responded, eyes cast downward to avoid his wrath. 

"Excuses," he ground out, in irritation. "I want her found. She could not have gotten far…" 

"My lord, it is past midnight," Breia protested, drawing another look from her commander.

"If I didn't have my principles, Colonel, I would have slapped you for that ridiculous comment. Take a hunting party of your own choosing. You're one of my best trackers. Find her and bring her here!" he demanded, through clenched teeth.

"Saeryth, you're bleeding," Breia excused again, moving towards him with her wet cloth.

He batted her arm away. "What is wrong with you, woman?" he asked, pressing the palm of his hand against his left eye socket. "You've been acting strangely." 

"I…" she bit her bottom lip. "I will find her and return her before sunrise, my lord," she stated, monotone. It would do no good to draw his suspicion. The hunting party would be deployed with or without her, and the only way she could help Cordelia was by being out there. "I will send for the physician," she added softly, hand hovering above his shoulder, wishing to offer her lover comfort. Divided loyalties…she knew of his evil but endeavored to love him as she had before her…enlightenment. She desired his happiness as well as Cordelia's well being, but those could no longer coincide in the same universe.

With an ironic sigh, Breia hefted herself to her feet and exited the tent, to call a search party together. 

The vision flashed again and this time Cordelia saw the Colonel at a later moment, galloping full speed at the head of a hunting group made up of 6 other riders, eyes on the trail. Seeing something significant, she stopped her mount and turned to the other members. "Split into groups of two…it is too dark, and I cannot find her specific trail in this light," she announced. There was a quiet murmur from amongst the gathered men. She shot them a sharp look, reminiscent of her attitude before having met Cordelia. They quieted immediately. "You two, that direction…" She pointed to her left. "You two, double back the way in which we came, she might have hid. You two, that way," she commanded, gesturing right. 

"Madam…" one of the men spoke up. "Wouldn't it make sense for her to head back to the creatures' complex?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "She is a new arrival, soldier. Do you think she even knows the direction of their encampment? She might be anywhere. If Saeryth knew of your…"

"Beggin' your pardon, madam," he apologized hastily, head cast down. "We'll be off."

"Yes. We shall reconvene at the camp at daybreak." 

They all saluted and rode off in their respective directions. Breia sighed with relief, her commanding presence dissolving along with her men. Shaking her head, she dismounted and placed a knee to the ground, examining a patch of flattened grass. The grooves were still deep where a horse's hooves had recently penetrated. There had not been time for it to rise again. Nodding to herself, she mounted up and rode in the direction of the Protective Armies' complex. If she pressed her mount, she might be able to catch up before the allotted meeting time with the others. 

The vision flashed ahead more hours, and she saw Doyle as she had moments before, stiffening beside her at the crack of a nearby twig, somewhere behind them. She relived his leaving, his telling her to stay put and not move an inch until he should return. She saw herself nodding, taking the reigns of her horse in hand, watching him stalk off like a shadow into the surrounding darkness, watching him melt into blackness, leaving her alone. But this time, the vision allowed her access to what he saw as he slipped through the brush and trees so thick around them, as he picked his way through, listening intently. Another slight snap of underbrush alerted him to a nearby presence, and she saw him tense, saw him crouch as he reached a small clearing between the trees. He ducked beside the trunk of one, breath held in apprehension. They were too close for his liking. He would need to dispatch them for the safety of his charge. 

That was when Breia stepped into his line of vision. She knelt down as she had before to read the trail, and from the shelter of the tree, Doyle tensed. His jaw clenched, and Cordelia was able to see through her vision something she'd never seen from his eyes, a cold, seething hatred. She watched, muscles tense with fury as he rose to his feet, no longer fearful of being seen. And Breia spotted him instantly, heard the rustle of leaves crunch underfoot as he approached her. She stood up in surprise at his sudden appearance.

His expression was grim. "You…" he said, voice full of loathing. 

Then the vision became unclear, a blur of darkness and metal… as if it refused her details of the happenings. She could hear in the background, snippets of angry words, the sound of swords clashing against each other, and even before the instant fast-forward from present to future had ended, she knew what she was going to see next. 

She watched, horrified, as Doyle's sword stabbed viciously into Breia's abdomen, watched as rich crimson blood began to leak out onto her clothes, onto her hands. She saw him, the moment he drew his weapon back in dull victory. Doyle watched Breia slump dispassionately, her hands wrapped around her bleeding waist. He looked far from exuberant, but at the same time, he seemed unrepentant of his deed. There was no flicker of regret in his eyes, no sense of mourning for the life he'd begun to end. Instead, she watched him wipe his bloody sword on the grass before sheathing it and turning around. He walked away silently, back into the night, before Breia had even expelled her last breath. 

And thus the vision ended.

Startled, Cordelia fell back a step as her mind cleared, the night swimming back into her scope of view, the woods, the trees of the area which Doyle had left her in. The place she was standing while not so far away, the man who loved her was going to kill the woman who'd saved her. Gasping, she released the horse's reins without ceremony and dashed off in the direction she'd last seen Doyle take, telling herself that the last part of that vision had yet to pass, and if she was fast enough, it never would have to. 

The horse snorted as it watched her run past, and started to graze on some nearby foliage.

~~~~~~~~~

He should have been more surprised when Breia only fought back nominally, her being notorious for optimistic offence, of striking with full force forward and damn the consequences. But his anger at seeing her clouded his better judgment, his earlier need to vent frustrations magnified fourfold at the sight of her, that sweet countenance and wispy blonde hair, those hazel eyes that had watched dispassionately the slaughter of thousands trying to appear innocent, begging for mercy, was too much for his resolve. Did she think it was a joke? He brought his sword in a forceful arc towards her head, wanting to split open those sweet looking features down the middle, to reveal the ugliness inside. 

She threw up her own weapon to block, the metal hitting with a blade-vibrating crash, the vibrations running painfully up the muscles of each fighter's arm. She hissed, tried to push him off, but his strength was greater than hers, and he threw her forcefully backwards, into the trunk of a tree instead. "You want to start askin' for mercy, Breia? Think it might be funny," Doyle drawled, breathing heavily. "Ironic an' all that, the Unmerciful One begging for her life." 

"I die fighting," she shot back, not cringing from the anger he saw in his eyes. Those eyes were haunted, and she understood his pain. 

"As long as you die," he responded, kicking the sword from her hand in a movement so fast she knew it was superhuman. She watched hopelessly as her weapon flew into the undergrowth, disappearing without much shred of glory. She squared her chin and waited for the final blow. 

~~~~~~~~~

She crashed through the trees, heedless of what may be waiting out there, arms up to protect her face from the reaching branches and stinging leaves. If she didn't get there, if she didn't stop it…Doyle was going to kill her. He was going to kill her and he wouldn't even know that it was a mistake. 

"Doyle!!!" she shouted, though it came out weak, from her lack of breath. It seemed like she'd been running forever. She'd only been doing so for ten minutes. 

Something welled forlornly in the pit of her stomach, a sinking feeling of dread springing up somewhere inside of her. It made her sick, and one hand went around her middle as she stopped for breath, stopped to relieve some of the burning in her lungs, the taste of phantom blood in her mouth. She wiped at her face with her other hand, clearing strands of disarrayed hair from her eyes. It all seemed to want to play out like a Grecian tragedy, where all the players died in the end due to some stupid misunderstanding. 

After a minute's respite, she heaved herself to a full standing position again, began running back the way they had come from so recently. "Doyle!!" Her voice came out strained even as she tripped, even as she felt herself falling forward. Her only thought given the situation was, _**God, I tripped at my crucial moment. How cliché is that?** _

~~~~~~~~~~

He stood over her, victorious, her weapon dislodged, she leaning against the tree he'd thrown her into, unable to stand by herself. It seemed poetic to him somehow, that the woman who had been in his position countless times was now on the receiving end of her own techniques. Those women, those children, those families, and Aur could all rest now…he'd have avenged them.

She looked up at him eyes unfaltering, held her head up to watch him deliver her. 

"See you in hell, Colonel," he whispered, before drawing his hand back, stabbing her through until he could feel the wood the tree behind her chip at the edge of his sword.

Her eyes widened with the pain, hands going to hover at the point of puncture as blood began to blossom onto her fatigues like roses. Her hands encircled the blade, drawing cuts onto her palms, but she held it there, closed her eyes, felt tears welling up behind the lids. "I'm sorry," she murmured. 

Doyle watched, transfixed, as the blood pooled outward on the cloth of her shirt, reaching out to touch the other fibers, to bring them into the fold. Dispassionate to her words, he braced his leg onto the tree trunk and used it as leverage to pull his weapon out. 

The action induced a fresh web of pain on the Colonel and she gasped, wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to hold it in, as if there was no blood leaking out of her from the point of exit as well. 

There was a crash from the brush, dispelling the quiet, disrupting the spell of death that had begun to weave its way through the night air around them. They both turned their heads to see Cordelia, careening through the foliage, Doyle's name on her breath. "Doyle! No!" she pleaded, falling with an inglorious thud to the dirt and grass of the wilderness floor. 

"Cordelia?" Breia forgotten, he rushed to her side, laid his sword on the ground without a second thought. "Delia? What's wrong? I thought I told you…" He trailed off, knelt beside her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm…I'm okay…" she assured him, out of breath. "You didn't…did you…" she looked at him.

"I didn't what, Princess?" he asked, brow furrowing. 

"Did you kill her?" she asked, her eyes full of dread and fear. She grasped the hand he was using to help her up. 

He seemed surprised at her question. "I…" he didn't know what to say. Her eyes told him she dared to hope that he hadn't. He looked up, past her, to Breia, who was slumped against the tree, still trying hopelessly, to hold herself together. Her gaze followed him, and he heard her deep intake of breath.

"Oh no," she murmured, struggling to her feet, releasing her hold on him. She ran over to the dying Colonel. "Oh no…" 

Breia managed a weak smile. "You are all right, then."

"I'm okay," Cordelia ensured her, feeling the sting of tears. "I'm sorry…I was too late. I saw it…in my mind…I have these visions…and I…I tried to come," she hastily tried to explain, tears and breathlessness mingling into some sort of hiccup-speech. 

Breia shook her head. "If you foresaw it, then was meant to be. I don't deserve your concern."

Cordelia shook her head. "I'm sorry you had to… that you have to…"

The Colonel's mud green eyes allowed for one last sparkle. "I'm not." 

Then, with one breathy sigh, the life faded from her. 

Resigned, crying softly, Cordelia turned back to Doyle. "She'd changed," she told him. "She helped me escape. I…I cleansed her on the field…and she…" she trailed off, too weak to finish.

He came up behind her and picked up his sword, looking down at the body of his slain enemy. "I didn't know," he offered, sounding more tired than repentant. "All I saw was the woman who murdered thousands in their homes. Who killed Aur." He held his sword in his hand, looked at the blood staining it, and sighed, bending down to wipe it clean on the grass. Then, with a weary groan, he stood up, offered her his hand. "We need to go, Cordelia. It's not safe."

She looked at his hand a moment, wondering how, with so much blood everywhere, that it wasn't dirty. With a resigned sigh, she took it, and allowed herself to be hoisted up. "We should take her…and bury her," she offered, releasing him once she was to her feet.

He furrowed his brow. "I don' think we can, Delia."

Shock, indignance at his words. "What? Why not? It's…we can't just leave her…" She gestured to the body with her hand, emphatically. 

"The horse already has double the load, Cord," he started, patiently. "Less you want to drag her home, it'd be better ta leave her here, where her own can find her."

His words were pure logic, unaffected by emotion or weariness, just a statement of fact. It seemed so dull in her ears, no matter how much sense he made. Looking into his eyes, they seemed just as indulgent towards her as his voice had been, tired and sensible. She nodded. "Let's go, then." 

_I am the blood, I am released  
Come make me pure  
Bleed me a cure  
I'm caught, I'm caught, I'm caught under _

Caught under wheels roll  
I take the leech I'm bleeding me  
Can't stop to save my soul  
I take the leash that's leading me   
I'm bleeding me  
Ooh, I can't take it  
I can't take it  
I can't take it  
Oh, oh the bleeding of me 

Ooh, come on baby 

I'm digging my way  
I'm digging my way to something   
I'm digging my way to something better 

I'm pushing to stay  
I'm pushing to stay to something  
I'm pushing to stay to something better 


	16. Part XV: The Key

**Part XV: The Key**

_I guess you were lost  
When I met you  
Still there were tears in your eyes  
So out of trust  
And I knew  
No more than mysteries and lies_

There you were  
Wild and free  
Reaching out like you needed me  
A helping hand  
To make it right  
I am holding you all through the night

I'll be the one  
Who will make all your sorrows undone  
I'll be the light  
When you feel like there's nowhere to run  
I'll be the one  
To hold you  
And make sure that you'll be all right  
My fear is gone  
And I want to  
Take you from darkness to light

There you are  
Wild and free  
Reaching out like you needed me  
A helping hand  
To make it right  
I am holding you all through the night

I'll be the one  
Who will make all your sorrows undone  
I'll be the light  
When you feel like there's nowhere to run  
I'll be the one  
To hold you  
And make sure that you'll be all right  
My fear is gone  
And I want to  
Take you from darkness to light

Maj had been up all night, on the wall, looking out forlornly at the surrounding wilderness, staring out into the emptiness. It was dawn now, morning was breaking, the sky brilliant and orange-pink in the early glow of rising sun. His commander had not returned. His commander might be dead. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to imagine what he would do, how he could possibly take so great a man's place when he himself knew that he was unfit for the job. There was so much more responsibility...it would break him. He cut back the urge to howl, lament to the fading moon his predicament, lest he wake the men, who were battle-weary enough without having to wake up at such an ungodly hour to his own personal dirge. His thought turned painful when he realized if he had broken into song at this time of day, Doyle would have threatened to cut of one body part or another of his and turn it into an article of clothing. 

_**Knowin' Doy, he probably offered a trade for her and got double-crossed by the bastard,**_ he mused. 

At the sound of flapping wings, he turned around, to see Tauri, hovering in the air behind him. "Colonel, sir." He saluted.

"Mornin' Taur. What can I do you for?" he asked, eye still trained on the countryside. 

"News from the Supreme Command, sir. They uh… they noted that if the General is not returned by noontide that you will be promoted and…" he trailed off, let Maj finish the statement in his head. 

The Colonel sighed. "That happens, and we're doomed, Taur." 

Alighting beside him on the wall, Tauri folded his wings around him like a cape, looked out with hawkish eyes over what Maj was so intent on. He studied it keenly, every detail, every spot of the area he'd grown to memorize for prudence's sake. They stood like that for the better part of a half hour, the suns rays growing stronger, brightening the world around them. Seeing movement, the Captain quirked his head owlishly. After a moment, he turned back to Maj. "Perhaps he is well." 

"He rode off on his own to Saeryth's encampment, Taur. If he's well Saer's been slipping as he ages," Maj responded dryly. 

"The General Saeryth has appeared to have slipped then," Tauri responded seriously, eyes turning back to the woodland as concentrated on one spot in particular. "I see movement."

"You're shittin' me…" Maj hopped up onto his hind legs and propped him self up on the wall, peering over. "I don't see a thing." He craned his neck. 

"Your vision is not as well as mine," Tauri responded simply, unfolding his wings and rising into the air for a better view. After studying the distance for a relatively secure answer, he floated back down to inform his superior. "They are well, sir." 

The Colonel looked unbelieving. "This isn't a joke, is it, Taur?"

The Captain raised an eyebrow, face all passivity and calmness. "No, sir, it is not." 

Maj laughed out loud, with relief, with disbelief. "That bastard has more tricks than a whore in a rich man's bed," he whooped, everything vulgar and delightful in his character on display. "Go on, Taur," he nudged his friend with hi shoulder, "wake up the cooks a little early, get them started on breakfast…I'm going out to meet 'em, anyone else that wants to come has five minutes to join me at the gate!" With those last orders given, Maj gave an exuberant laugh and jumped off the wall towards the grounds below, a 30-foot drop of mind numbing liberation before landing lithely, sharing his joy with the night guards by laughing at them and running circles around their watch-weary legs. "He's back!!" 

~~~~~~~~

Doyle looked up blearily at the sound of wolf-call in the early sunrise woods, the noise sending a flock of resting birds to the air. The sound likewise woke Cordelia, whom he'd perched in the front of the saddle so that she may lean back and sleep against him. "What was that?" she groaned, eyes peeling open, then shutting quickly as the first rays of sun blinded her momentarily. She groaned.

"That, was Maj," Doyle responded, some relief finally evident in his voice, though he did not smile. He was too tired to smile. 

She laid her head back against his shoulder and yawned. "Oh." 

"We'll be back within the hour," he murmured into her ear. He dared a look over his shoulder at his own horse, which limped determinedly on behind them. Surprisingly, the animal had been in the exact spot he'd left him, none the worse for wear. 

"Mmm… I need a bath…and a big, comfy bed," Cordelia stated dreamily, finally beginning to wake up from the uncomfortable slumber riding a horse could allow. She blinked a bit. "We are safe now, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Princess, you're safe," he replied. 

She was about to question him on the glaring omission, but a voice loud enough to shake the leaves on the trees greeted them as they cleared the edge of the woods. "General! You bastard, you gave me the scare of my life!!" Maj called out, breaking into a sprint towards them, causing their horse to dance nervously. Doyle steadied it and offered a weak smile at Maj as he flew over the distance of the field towards them.

"Mornin', Colonel… or did they make ya General already?" Doyle asked, by way of greeting once Maj had stopped in front of them. 

"Still Colonel, General…think the Supreme Command wanted to put off promoting me as long as possible," the wolf responded good-naturedly. "And I can see that you were successful. I don't know how, you old bastard, but I'm glad you found her." 

Cordelia offered a smile at the Colonel's excitement. "Hey, Maj. I'm glad he found me too."

"I want all the details once we're inside, and once we've gotten some food in you," Maj instructed. "I'm curious as to how the Gen here got you out unscathed." 

Doyle shook his head. "Not much to tell, she sorta rescued herself."

The Colonel erupted into a string of raucous laughter, intermingled with the occasional curse. "Damn, Doyle, you know how to pick 'em. You know how to pick 'em. Bet she's a dab hand with a broadsword too, eh?" 

~~~~~~~

After said hot meal and a disclosure of the details Doyle and Cordelia weren't too weary to relate, Gwyn threw a disapproving glance at the Colonel for his probing and quite brusquely told him to shut up and let them get some rest. They were exhausted. 

Appreciative of the Major's bluntness, Cordelia gratefully threw herself into the bath that Gwyn had ordered drawn for her, relaxing tense muscles and trying to forget all that she'd been subjected to in the last few days. Relaxing in the pleasantly warm, rose scented water, she laid her head back against the brim of the tub and closed her eyes, let the clean aroma of blossoms and perfumed soap rise up to her nostrils from within the water's steam. 

But even as she tried to rest, something bothered her; something itched at the base of her skull like a particularly irritating bug bite that she was unable to quite reach. There still niggled in her brain, the fact that her mission was as incomplete as before she'd known quite what it was, and that in itself was deeply unsatisfying. To be given a job and no idea where to even begin was not taken, nor had it ever been kindly by a Chase, especially Cordelia. Not only was it inconvenient and deeply inconsiderate, it made her feel grossly ineffectual, which was something she'd been taught to loathe at an early age. Chases were never inconsequential. They took the initiative always, they got things done, they did it well, and damn it all, they looked good while doing it. Some impressions of her upbringing would never be washed away. This was one of them. 

She laughed at herself a little, realizing how different she and Doyle were in that respect. He was one that was forced into the limelight, into the public eye while truly; he would rather be completely negligible, when he would much prefer an inconspicuous existence rather than owning a starring role…the staring role, in the ongoing melodrama that engulfed this dimension. Yet here he was, one of the greatest, one of the most renowned leaders (according to her sources) and he wanted no part of it. If last night had been any indication, he was so sick of expectations and fighting that there wasn't even room left for him to inspire any feeling other than disillusionment. 

She scrubbed at her skin with the soap, recalled how all he'd done after killing Breia was wipe his sword and tell her they had to leave. That had seemed unlike him. 

They didn't have shampoo, so she washed her hair out with soap, knowing that there would be hell to pay on her follicles for such folly later, but too tired to whine to herself, even mentally. Too tired to do much of anything, really. She lingered in the bath for another quarter hour before realizing that falling asleep was becoming a greater threat as she let herself stagnate here along with the water, and with great force of effort, rose up and grabbed a towel, drying herself off. Once groomed, she gratefully slipped on the extra set of clothing one of the maids had left her and crawled under the covers of her bed, never feeling anything as heavenly as the comfort of sleep as it settled over her and drew her away from this world, from her problems. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Doyle, after obligatorily indulging Maj and Gwyn by eating something, had trudged off to his office. He was exhausted, sore, red-eyed and haggard, but there remained work to be done. There had still been a battle; there had still been casualties, death. He was tempted to even write a note to Saeryth to tell him of his lover's condition, but whether that would be just plain cruel or inconsequential, he couldn't decide. 

Slipping into the small reception area outside of his office, he let the door slam closed behind him of his own volition, giving his secretary a start. She looked up from behind a stack of paperwork, hand to her heart. "Doyle! I though you were gonna go get some rest. Word is you had a rough night," she tsk-tsked upon seeing who it was. 

"Got work to do, Seez. Rest later," he responded in monotone, walking past her and into his office. She watched him go, a small frown marring her silver-toned face. When he disappeared behind his great big oaken doors, she shook her head and went back to her paperwork. 

~~~~~~~

Cordelia was walking through the battlefield; the very one she'd traversed before her kidnap. There were bodies stacked six feet high left and right, the rotten stench of decaying flesh stirred by the wind and dust, the sound of scraping maggots devouring the rancid cadavers echoing in the background, so close that she could hear them hatching, but far enough away that it could have been an illusion, could have been her mind playing tricks on her. Skulls with empty eye sockets stared back at her, skeletons of soldiers with their armor still on, with the weapons that had imparted the fatal blow still lodged into their bodies. Their maws gaped, their rusty chain mail clattered against their sun bleached bones 

She wanted to close her eyes, to look away, but they wouldn't let her, moved by the wind so it seemed as if they were speaking to her, the sounds of the maggots their voice trying to speak to her. 

She continued walking through, stomach churning at the scene, the stench, the same thing over and over for miles. Looking forward, there rose from the ground a mountainous pile of remains; they came up out of the ground as if they'd grown from the bowels of the earth itself, a volcanic eruption of cadavers, overflowing like lava. She stumbled backwards, blindly, tripped and fell against a pile of bones, their clatter burning her ears. The pile stopped growing, the corpses stopped coming eventually, and she looked up, up to the top, where a figure stood, a body in its own right, but possessed of voice. 

It raised its hands to the sky. "I am the queen of his dead!" she shouted, to the sulfur-colored heavens. 

Cordelia stood up, shoved away the bones that wanted to drag her down…the familiarity of the figure haunting. "Breia?"

At the sound of her voice, the corpse's eyes shot directly to her. It pointed a green-tinted finger. "You have no business here!" 

The booming echo of voice made Cordelia want to cover her ears. Instead, she stood transfixed, as Breia's zombie slid down the body-mount where she had played Queen of the Hill, finger still outstretched in her direction. As she drew closer, she could see the blood stained mouth, the hole where his sword had punctured her crawling with hatchling fly larvae, the blood roses still stained on her tunic. "Why have you come?" she demanded. "There's no grey on your skin." 

"I come to take the blood," Cordelia responded, automatically, not of her own volition. 

Breia smiled, though her gums had already begun to recede, pieces of thin pink-flesh flapping against her molars. "Then you are here for these…" She waved an arm around her, gesturing to all the piled bodies. The wind blew and rattled their bones, the sound like haunted applause. 

She shook her head. "No, I didn't mean that. There's too many."

Breia laughed. "There will be more. And I am their queen." 

Cordelia looked out across the horizon. "You have a lot of subjects." "You want to take them."

She shook her head. "They're hideous." 

"They're his creations!" Breia protested, and the bones rattled again. 

Cordelia paled. "These are all the people he's killed?"

"They bow before me."

"Why?"

"I am his murder." 

"He didn't murder you!" Cordelia protested. "He didn't know."

"He didn't care." 

"It was his job."

"He doesn't care." 

"He's a General!" Cordelia protested hotly.

"He's an idiosyncrasy."

Cordy's brow furrowed. "What is that?"

"Exactly." Breia turned back to the bodies. "Do you want them or not?"

"What happens if I don't want them?"

"Then they pile up. And he'll take them with him in the end."

"Doyle will?"

"They are his subjects."

"I thought you were the queen of his dead."

"And you are the queen of his life," Breia responded, eyes not quite seeing when she looked at this valley of dead. 

Cordelia shook her head, felt the beginnings of a headache pounding at the nape of her neck. "I don't want them," she muttered. 

"Then he will have them. And he will reign as king." 

"It's so dark here though. I don't think he'd like it. Don't kings like bright colors?" 

"Bright and dark…it doesn't matter, not to a king of bodies. The cracks are still the same, will still cause shatter." 

"And if I take them?"

The wind stopped blowing. The bones stopped rattling. Breia looked at her. "Nothing." 

The silence seemed infinitely better than the chatter of wind-chimed skeletons. "Nothing?" 

The carcasses disappeared. "Nothing," Breia reiterated, looking over miles and miles of trampled tan dirt. 

Cordelia turned in a slow circle. There was nothing left, just the ground, just the sky, the wind. She breathed a sigh of relief, turned back to where Breia had been standing, where she was no more. Instead she saw Doyle, kneeling in front of her on his knees, hands folded into a cup. 

"Doyle?" she asked, walking towards him. 

"Shhhh," he hushed, eyes trained on his hands. 

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"I have to hold it in," he responded softly. He gave a start when his hands began to fill, clear liquid water beginning to rise against the walls of his palms. "It's here!" he cheered, much louder than before, loud enough to make her start. 

"Water?" 

He ignored her question, kept looking at the liquid. Soon, it began to overflow. "Too much," he muttered. "They won't stop giving it to me." 

She stood, transfixed, as the water poured over his hands and onto his lap, onto the ground underneath him. Before long, the clear liquid turned thick and red, dripping slime and juice all over him. 

Startled, she drew in a breath. "It's blood." 

He nodded. "My cup runeth over," he quipped, hands still folded. 

She watched him there for a while, the blood continuing to overflow the cup of his hands, dropping onto his body in thick, viscous splotches.

"It's staining your shirt," she droned, monotone.

"And my pants, and my shoes, and my skin," he responded, listless, eyes glued to the blood in his hands. "It keeps coming. I can't hold it without a new cup." 

She nodded. "Can you find one big enough?"

He looked at her, eyes boring into her. "Can you bring me one?"

She shook her head. "I didn't bring one with me." 

He looked defeated, then slowly let his hands part, the blood exploding into a geyser, spraying down on his face and neck. "It's easier this way," he murmured, opening his mouth to catch brick-red droplets on his tongue. 

She watched him, playing in the blood. "Doesn't it bother you?" she asked, edging away from the geyser. 

He put his face into it and shook his head, soaking his hair. "Does it bother you?"

She nodded. "It's not right."

He shrugged and gathered some on his fingertips before flicking them at her, staining the white of her clothes. "You're too clean," he stated offhandedly. "It's hard to stay clean when everything else is messy."

"I don't like to be dirty," she replied, looking down as the blood he'd gotten on her began to spread over the thin cloth in a flower-pattern. 

"You're not supposed to be all white," he offered. 

"You're not supposed to be all red," she snapped in response, trying to dab out the stains with her sleeve to keep them from spreading any further. 

"So fix it," he responded with a sneer. "Or is there too much?" 

"You shouldn't have cracked your first cup anyway," she told him irritably.

He continued washing himself in the blood-fountain. "If it bothers you, get me one," he said simply, cupping another handful of the liquid and bringing it to his face. A thin stream continued to leak out from the space between his hands. "I can't hold it all." 

"Did you even try?" 

He nodded, unclasped his hands and began stripping off his saturated clothes. "For a while. But it was too hard. Now I just let it fall."

She studied him, naked from the torso up, taking blood paint and drawing across his chest and stomach. 

"It'll stain your skin," she warned. 

"Why didn't it stain yours?" he asked, pointing to her.

She looked down. Her shirt was white again, completely clean. "I'm different," she stated by way of explanation.

"So am I," he retorted, continuing his artwork up and down his arms. "I'm a General."

"A leader."

He shook his head. "Saeryth is a leader."

"You're a General."

He yawned. "I'm tired."

"You should rest then," she replied, practically. 

He nodded. " But I can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm a General." He stopped playing with the blood for a moment. "Aren't I?"

She laughed. "You're weird." 

"Yeah." He frowned comically and continued concentrating on drawing a picture on his torso.

"What are you drawing?" she asked, craning her neck to see him. "What's that?" 

He pointed to a rich stain over his heart. "That's my blood," he explained, smearing it with his hands and offering it to her. 

"You're bleeding?" she knelt down next to him, concerned, the small blood geyser forgotten, staining her pants, the hem of her shirt. Sure enough, a jagged cut appeared on his chest, a hemorrhage from nothing. She put her hand over the cut; felt his lifeblood pouring out of the wound and onto her arms. 

"I always bleed a little bit," he responded, trying to knock her hands away. "There's nothing you can do about it. It doesn't hurt much anymore." 

"You'll die," she chastised, firmly keeping her hands in place.

He slapped her hands away again. "I won't. I always bleed a little bit." 

"A little bit becomes a lot."

"Never enough." 

She stubbornly persisted, tore a strip from her shirt and pushed it down to staunch the flow. "What do you mean, never enough? This is a lot!"

He laughed. "I'll still wake up." 

"Are you saying you're asleep now?"

"I can't sleep." He gave up struggling and let her push down on his cut, looking down at it. "There's too much to stop," he noted, without a hint of concern.

"I'll stop it," she promised him. "You be quiet. I thought you were tired." 

"I'm always a little tired." 

She put more pressure on the wound. 

"That feels nice," he managed, reluctantly.

"I knew it would."

With her words, his body went into convulsions underneath her, his face stretching like human clay in every which direction, molding, bending. His back arched beneath him, hands clenching sporadically. He screamed, closing his eyes; face remolding, reshaping, hair growing shorter, growing lighter, body lengthening, hands enlarging. He snarled again, and shook, turned into Saeryth below her hands. 

She gasped. "Doyle?"

Saeryth's eyes snapped open, wide, angry looking orbs of azure diamond. "Don't touch me!" he demanded, struggling to dislodge her touch. 

She pushed down harder. "I'm trying to help!"

"You failed!" Saeryth shot back, eyes uncharacteristically feral. He looked down at the blood, still flowing unhindered despite her efforts, and sighed with relief. "You cannot."

"You'll die!" she warned him.

He laughed at her. "I'll live forever." 

She looked at him oddly. "No one lives forever. Especially if they bleed this much."

"You have to stop fighting it," Saeryth intoned, pushing her hands away from his chest and sitting up. He continued to bleed, stuck his finger in the hole in his chest and wriggled it around. "You let it come, and glory awaits." 

Disgusted, Cordelia turned her head from him. "What did you do with Doyle?" 

Saeryth withdrew his finger and put his hand over his heart in a mock-salute. "We are one in the same."

"You two don't even look alike!" Cordelia protested.

The General's cobalt eyes glittered. "We look exactly the same." 

"He's different!" she retorted. "He's shorter." 

"He's taller!" Saeryth shot back. "Not much longer." He laughed, a hollow, wicked sounding noise. "Well be brothers and I will give him my hat to wear." 

"He doesn't want your hat!" Cordelia retorted, crossing her arms. 

"It will protect his head," Saeryth responded. "From the sun." 

"The sun can't hurt him."

"It will destroy him." He looked up at the angry orange-yellow sky, scowled at it. "It will swallow him up." 

"The sun is healthy! It gives you a good tan!" Cordelia retaliated hotly.

"Cancer," Saeryth responded without elaborating.

"Well, yeah, it can give you cancer," she conceded. 

"Malignant… it'll eat away your insides."

"I don't understand you," she huffed, watching as the blood continued streaming down his chest. 

"Then you don't understand him either!" the General's voice boomed, before he jerked, a full body spasm in much the same way Doyle had earlier, skin and flesh contorting and moving of it's own volition. Cordelia watched, transfixed, as Doyle was returned to her. 

"Doyle?"

"I was gone for a while," he muttered strangely. "It was quiet."

"Saeryth was here."

Doyle's head spun to look at her. "Where? I'll kill him!" 

"He was you."

"He's not me!" Doyle avowed, eyes like flint. 

"You turned into him."

"You should have killed me…" he muttered, hand going to the bleeding wound on his chest. "It hasn't stopped."

"He wouldn't let me stop it."

"I always bleed a little."

She growled. "You already said that." 

"If I let go, do you think it will stop?"

"If you let go you'll die." 

"I wonder what that's like," he murmured curiously, laying down on his back and looking at the yellow-red sky. "Like a dream." He closed his eyes.

She sat beside him and watched him for a while. She looked at his hand, folded under his head, the bleeding wound gushing down his side, down his chest. "Does it feel any better?" she asked, eyes trained on the gash. 

"Not yet," he said. A minute longer and he sat up. "I've not got the patience," he told her, opening his eyes. 

She gasped when he looked at her, the cerulean verdant of his eyes uniform coal. "Doyle! Your eyes!" likewise, his skin began fading, black spots appearing, forming pinprick holes in his skin, falling like dust around him. 

"Damn! It's dark! I can't see anything!" he shouted desperately; face melting under a myriad attack of miniscule black dots, like he was fading to black before her.

She latched onto him, hands holding him by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. "I'm here, Doyle! The sun is shining! The birds are singing? Can't you see? Can't you hear?" 

He put his hands out in front of him. "I can't… I can't… it keeps shifting out of the dish, my left side feels heavy. Did you know there was this much dirt in me, Delia? Isn't it funny? I thought…I thought I took a bath yesterday, but I can't scrub it away. Will you help me, Cordy? Why won't you help me? It's just a little dirt. I guess…I guess It's hard ta see in the dark like this…it keeps getting harder…" His eyes, black, blind orbs of obsidian glass, looked up at her, looked through her, pockmarked hands reaching up towards her. "Where did the light go? I can't get clean in this."

"Doyle, you're disappearing," she cried, feeling the wet sting of tears against her cheek, standing there, frozen and unable to aid him as he called out to her. 

"Cordy! Cordelia…it's like sand in an' hourglass…all runnin' out…" he wheezed, overcome by his bizarre disease, melting into grains in her arms, turning to black dirt in her hands. "Yes," he muttered. 

"Doyle, the dark isn't safe! Wild animals could eat you!" she begged, trying to get him to hold on.

"It's quiet here," he rambled, eyes melting backwards, falling away into crystallized granules of opaque glass. "It's so quiet in the dark," he murmured. "I just have to stop fightin' it." 

She watched, horrified, as his last words caused him to explode in her hands, into a fine black powder, falling between the cracks of her fingertips. 

Overhead, the sky turned black.

~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up with a start, flying to a sitting position, hands clutched at her pulse-exploding heart. "Oh God," she muttered, breathing heavily. "Doyle. Doyle!" Sweat-stained and dream-shocked, she sat in her bed a while longer, until her breathing evened out, until she could swallow without feeling like she was asphyxiating herself in the attempt. "God, what a nightmare," she whispered to herself, easing out of the bed and padding over to the dresser, where a pitcher of tepid water waited, next to an unassuming earthen mug. She poured herself a glass, watched as the water tipped out of the pitcher's lip and into the mug. Her mind flashed back to the dream, to Doyle's haunted voice…

~~~~~~~

_"Too much. They won't stop giving it to me."_

~~~~~~~

She jumped when she overflowed the cup, when water ran off the sides of the narrow dresser-top and touched the edge of her shirt, causing the skin underneath to jump on contact. 

~~~~~~~

_"It's staining your shirt."_

"And my pants, and my shoes, and my skin. It keeps coming. I can't hold it without a new cup." 

~~~~~~~

Hand shaking, she grasped the mug, brought it to her lips. Had it been a dream? Maybe it had been a vision. Doyle's voice echoed inside her head…

~~~~~~~~

_"You're not supposed to be all white."_

"You're not supposed to be all red." 

"So fix it." 

~~~~~~~~

She placed the cup back onto the table, beside the pitcher, took a deep breath. What crazy dreams.

~~~~~~~~

_"I'm a General."_

"A leader."

~~~~~~~~

Something nagged at her about those words. Disoriented, she moved to sit at the vanity, brought up a brush to comb her hair. _**What a weirdo-mundo dream…**_ she thought absently. 

_**Wait a minute…**_ Something finally clicked in her brain.

~~~~~~~~

_"There are two types of people here that make the world move. You've got your big bads; you've got your heroes. The thing they've all got in common is: they're visionaries. They're unique."_

~~~~~~~~

Whistler. What he'd told her in the tent, it matched…

~~~~~~~~

_"He's an idiosyncrasy."_

~~~~~~~~

The dream. She closed her eyes, tried to remember all the words, tried to see what they were telling her. Phrases and lines mixed in her head, colors and images and blood and water…

~~~~~~~~

_"The problem in Kaylorin is we've got these players, these movers, and for a while, things have been shifting out of balance."_

~~~~~~~~

_"What did you do with Doyle?" _

"We are one in the same."

~~~~~~~~~

"Out of balance" she muttered to herself.

~~~~~~~~~

_"What we need from you is to find one of the kings who's out of sorts with all the other players, and patch him up a little."_

~~~~~~~~~

_"You're a General."_

"I'm tired."

"You should rest then."

"I can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm a General."

~~~~~~~~~

Was a General the same as a king?

~~~~~~~~~

_"You see, it's like this. There are rules the PTBs operate by sometimes. Not fixed, mind you, they can change whenever fate's feeling particularly capricious. But they are there."_

~~~~~~~~~

_"You're not supposed to be all white."_

"You're not supposed to be all red." 

"So fix it." 

~~~~~~~~~

_"You are the queen of his life." _

~~~~~~~~~

_"Doyle, you're disappearing!"_

~~~~~~~~~

_"You are the queen of his life." _

~~~~~~~~~

_"You find the key, you win the war."_

~~~~~~~~~

_"What did you do with Doyle?" _

"We are one in the same."

~~~~~~~~~

_"There are two types of people here that make the world move. You've got your big bads; you've got your heroes. The thing they've all got in common is: they're visionaries. They're unique."_

~~~~~~~~~

Her eyes opened, and she stared into the vanity mirror, her expression as lucid as ever. "Doyle." 

_I guess you were lost  
When I met you  
Still there were tears in your eyes  
So out of trust  
And I knew  
No more than mysteries and lies_

There you were  
Wild and free  
Reaching out like you needed me  
A helping hand  
To make it right  
I am holding you all through the night

I'll be the one  
Who will make all your sorrows undone  
I'll be the light  
When you feel like there's nowhere to run  
I'll be the one  
To hold you  
And make sure that you'll be all right  
My fear is gone  
And I want to  
Take you from darkness to light

There you are  
Wild and free  
Reaching out like you needed me  
A helping hand  
To make it right  
I am holding you all through the night

I'll be the one  
Who will make all your sorrows undone  
I'll be the light  
When you feel like there's nowhere to run  
I'll be the one  
To hold you  
And make sure that you'll be all right  
My fear is gone  
And I want to  
Take you from darkness to light


	17. Part XVI: The Flipside

**Part XVI: The Flipside**

_I was waiting for so long  
For a miracle to come  
Everyone told me to be strong  
Hold on and don't shed a tear_

Through the darkness and good times  
I knew I'd make it through  
And the world thought I had it all  
But I was waiting for you

Hush now I see a light in the sky  
It's almost blinding me  
I can't believe I've been touched by an  
Angel of love

Let rain come down and wash away my tears  
Let it free my soul and drown my fears  
Let is shatter the walls for a new sun  
A new day has come

She found him in his office. His eyes were bleary from lack of sleep and she could still discern the presence of twigs and other such bramble in his hair, remnants of their excursions the night before, proof that he'd yet left time for himself to rest. "Doyle?"

He looked up from his papers at the sound of her voice. "Cordy?" 

"What are you doin' here?" he asked. "You should be restin'." 

She slid into the room, closed the door behind him. "So should you." 

He smiled dispiritedly before turning back to the paper in front of him. "I still have so many things to do…after Saeryth's attack, I didn't have time to do any clean up work 'fore I went out to find you…I need to catch up now."

"Didn't Maj do it? I heard him say…"

He waved her off with his free hand, the other one still scrawling out the letter. "Yeah, he did some o' the brunt work. He uh, he got the funeral taken care of, an' the new commissions, I just need to finish the condolence letters…" 

She strode over to the desk; put her hand on top of his to stop the writing movements. "Doyle, you haven't slept in like, 2 days. You're exhausted."

He shook her hand off, a mixture of anxiety to get his work done and discomfiture with the intimacy of the gesture. She decided to interpret it as the former, when he went back to writing. "I just got… I only have 'bout fifty more of these…I uh, I only write 'em for the officers, you see," he explained. "The commandin' officer o' the corps writes 'em for any of his men that got killed. It's ah, it's not that many," he told her, though his mind was clearly on his letter. 

She smiled softly. _**I can't believe I didn't see it before,**_ she admonished herself. "Hey Doyle, will you please stop a minute? I have something important I need to talk to you about."

Hearing the determined set of her voice, and knowing her well enough to know she wouldn't stop until he indulged her, he ceased working on his epistle and set his pen down on the desk. He looked up at her. "What can I help ya with, Delia?"

She walked around the desk and turned his chair to face her. "Let's sit over there," she suggested, pointing to the two the small couch situated in the corner, beside his miniature library. 

"Sure." He got up and let her lead him towards the sofa, sat down beside her. Once situated, he watched her, waiting for her to start whatever it was she thought needed to be said so urgently. 

Cordelia wasn't really sure how to start it. In the movies, when this sort of thing was revealed there was a big set up, some fancy music in the background, and an inspirational speech complete with an attention getting opening and an explosive finale. She smirked to herself. Doyle had never been one to get caught up in all that Hollywood hype. Instead, she stared him straight in the eye and said exactly what she was thinking. 

"I finally figured it out." 

He didn't bother to hide his confusion. "Yeah?"

She smiled, radiant, like the essence of her inner demon was illuminating her aura, a soft white light all around her. "It was never Saeryth. It couldn't be."

Realization dawned on him, and he nodded. "Oh. That." He eyed her then, skeptical. "Well Princess, with the clues Whistler gave ya, who else could it be?" 

"I tried my powers on Saeryth already. But there was just so much there, that desire to stay, I couldn't wash that away from him. I couldn't make someone that cold inside want to be better. He wanted to stay the way he was. I think the evil was too far inside of him, too much a part of him to come out without killing him." 

He snorted. "So the Powers led ye on a wild goose chase then? I wouldn't be surprised. Bastards do that occasionally."

She laughed a little, took one of his hands between her own. "Doyle, he wasn't the one I was sent here to help, he never was. We were just looking at the obvious clues the entire time, we were looking just at the bad guys. I mean, everyone always thinks it's the bad guy who needs to be fixed, right? They're the ones we've got to turn around and all that. We never flipped the coin over."

He looked confused, did that thing with his eyebrows she'd found so adorable when she'd first known him. "So you're sayin', what exactly?" he asked, wary. 

She rubbed small circles onto the back of his palm with her thumbs. "You've been sick of this for the longest time, haven't you?"

"What?" And then the meaning of her question sunk in. He withdrew his hand from hers like he'd been burned. "Me?"

She smiled, a "there-you-have-it" smile, causing the sides of her eyes to crinkle ever so, a sad, understanding type of expression. "It's you. I figured it out, last night. I dreamt of when you killed Breia."

He shook his head. "No… you're sayin' I've been slippin'? To the dark side, then? The powers afraid I'm gonna turn evil? Breia…that was a mistake. I couldn'ta known."

She shook her head. "No… you couldn't have. But it was the look you gave me after you did it, I could see it in there. You weren't sorry. You were just, tired. Angry. I can see it when I look at you now; I've been able to see it since I first got here. I just didn't realize it was what they wanted me to take care of. You need your balance restored."

He scoffed rebelliously, averted his eyes from he all-knowing gaze. "You sound like a protein shake." 

"I'm serious, Doyle. Whistler told me about two types of people, right? The really good and the really bad. The ones with vision." She put her hand on his cheek, turned him to look at her, into her eyes. "I thought all this time that I was sent here to fix the bad guy, I thought I could make Saeryth good. But I can't. No one can. What they want is for me to fix the good, because it's been tired. Because it's been fighting for so long, and it can't take too much more without a little hope to help." Her hand glowed warmly against the skin of his face, against the five o'clock shadow and the traces of scars left from previous battles. "Don't you see?" Her voice pleaded for an honest answer, and for as long as he'd known her, he'd been able to deny her nothing. 

It was there. He'd known it for a long time. He was so sick of it all, so weary, just pounding down the course mechanically, becoming bitter and angry and lost. The raw wounds from the death of friends, the constant fighting, the struggle. It ached something fierce inside of him, a burden shouldered by himself alone, to lead, to inspire, to win. He grasped her hand against his face, the warm glowing just under her skin calling to him like a beacon, calling him to let her help him ease his troubles. "I hate war," he murmured. "I'm so sick o' killing that I don't even care when I do it anymore. Like it don't even matter. Sometimes I just want to let them kill me…"

She drew him in to a hug; let him press his face against her shoulder. "I know, sweetie, I know." She wrapped her arms around him, ran fingers through the dark unruly mass of hair that was tickling her cheek. Closing her eyes, she felt her skin begin to warm, to glow in his embrace. She felt his arms tighten around her, a sort of mild panic at the strange sensations her demonic powers evoked as they began to take place, but she only held onto him tighter, clinched him in her embrace even as the hard muscles of his back and arms strained against her in an attempt to flee, to run away to something more familiar, the darkness, the pain. She pushed his face against her shoulder when he began to shake, when the luminescence of her demonic essence grew slowly brighter and flooded the chamber to blindness so that even she had to shut her eyes to protect them from the harsh, bright beauty of it. 

She felt him quiver, convulse heavily as the light swelled to its inevitable crescendo, and she felt simultaneously, what he had experienced three years past, a lifetime past, and could trace it as it was dragged into herself, a pocket of long suffering ache that was his and his uniquely. She enveloped it with the soft tendrils of light and gently shook it from where it was imbedded inside his soul, her essence slowly taking from him the poison that ate at his heart and bringing it into her own body, to be dealt with, to be done away with. 

Even as the light faded, even as everything that had hurt him flowed into her body, she felt him heave in her arms, terrible, choking sobs of weariness and loss, confusion, and overwhelming responsibility. She felt the warm tears through her shirt and held him moments longer, staring at the back of his head, at the unruly mass of half-curls and isolated tufts of hair resting against her shoulder, and she hoped that she had done enough. That maybe he would care again. That even though he wasn't completely fixed, (in that road lay a long and arduous journey) maybe he was on his way. He shuddered in her arms moments longer as he as forced to part with a piece of himself he'd had to live with for a long time, and she could only mutter sympathies and platitudes in his ear as she held him against her. 

Soon after, the choking sounds of grief trickled into a long wearied murmur and the heaving ceased. She felt him breathe heavily into her, a deep, fortifying gulp of air as he came to realize that he had no tears left. She felt the muscles of his neck and arms relax, though they continued to lean into her a moment longer, before she pulled back and looked at him. He hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "How do you feel?" she asked, gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. 

He laughed at her question, understandably flustered. "I feel like I've been crushed to a million pieces an' put back together again one sliver at a time." 

She regarded him tenderly. "I can feel it inside me, Doyle. All your hurt," she murmured. "And I know there's still some inside of you, that even I can't touch. But…" 

"…it's another chance," he finished for her. "It feels like a second wind." 

"Well, that's what it's supposed to be." 

Both of them started at the new voice that had seemingly intruded on such an intimate revelation. Cordy's hand went to her heart. "God, Skip! Warn a person!" 

The demon guide chuckled endearingly. "Sorry Cord. Bad habit, I guess. But I just had to congratulate the two of you." He turned to Doyle. "Glad to have you back." He stuck out his hand. 

Doyle looked at Skip for one hesitant moment, and then grasped the proffered limb in a firm shake. "I hadn't even been aware that I'd left," he admitted to the stranger. 

Skip smiled back. "Hey, no worries. Happens to the best of us. We all need a little refresher every now and again, am I right?" he asked, voice light and amiable. 

Cordy coughed. "Not that I'm not glad to see you Skip, but, why are you here?" 

Skip turned back to her. "I thought that was obvious. You've completed your mission. I'm here to take you away." 

Cordy and Doyle looked at each other. "I just got here!" she exclaimed, incredulously. 

"Yeah, but you did what you came here to do," Skip reminded her. 

"There's still a war going on," she responded. "It's not done yet." 

"To tell you the truth," Skip started, looking first at Cordy, and then to Doyle, "the war isn't going to be over for a while yet. Not in either of your lifetimes, anyway." 

Doyle closed his eyes and sighed. "I guess it was presumptuous ta think…" 

"Hey, don't worry about it, Doyle. You do the best you can," Skip assured him. "And just because the war isn't off quite yet doesn't mean we'd make you stay and fight it forever." 

Doyle looked puzzled at his revelation. "Then why go through the trouble o' makin' me a mission?" 

Skip smiled. "Well buddy, the Powers need you here. For now. Time'll come when you can retire from this whole mess, you live that long. I can promise that, at least," the black demon assured the General. "I mean, even Angel has a light at the end of the tunnel waiting for him. Wouldn't be fair if we didn't give you the same, right?" 

"Shanshu," Cordelia breathed. "For Angel. But what for Doyle?" 

Skip looked cryptic. "Doyle gets the same-his fondest wish." 

Both of them turned to him. In Doyle's eyes there sparked a small fire of hope. "I'll get to go home," he murmured. 

"Got it in one," Skip rejoined. "Now c'mon, Cordelia. I think we'd better get going." He held out his hand to her. 

"Where?" she asked. "Right now? Can't I stay a little longer? I mean, it seems so soon." She looked first at Doyle, and then back to Skip. 

The Demon-guide deliberated her request for a moment, looking slightly grim. "We need your help in another place, before we can take you back to LA," he told her. "But… the big guys upstairs say that it doesn't have to be until tonight." He smiled at them both. "We'll open up a portal in the arrival hall at midnight, okay?" 

They both nodded. 

He pointed to the two of them. "I hope that's enough time to say everything that needs to be said." With that, Skip saluted and disappeared in one blink, silent as he'd come, gone without even the benefits of fireworks and sound effects. 

"I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, huh?" she asked, smiling tiredly at Doyle. 

"Our work's never done, Princess," he agreed. "But 'm in no mood to work tonight, are you?" 

She laughed and told him she did was not either. 

"I feel…" he took a breath, as if approaching brand new soil, as if the word had been so long from his vocabulary that it took him a moment to remember its meaning. "…I feel like…celebratin'… myself." 

She eyed him. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. So, you up for a party?" 

_I was waiting for so long  
For a miracle to come  
Everyone told me to be strong  
Hold on and don't shed a tear_

Through the darkness and good times  
I knew I'd make it through  
And the world thought I had it all  
But I was waiting for you

Hush now I see a light in the sky  
It's almost blinding me  
I can't believe I've been touched by an  
Angel of love

Let rain come down and wash away my tears  
Let it free my soul and drown my fears  
Let is shatter the walls for a new sun  
A new day has come


	18. Part XVII: Hey, Hey, Goodbye

**Part XVII: Hey, Hey Goodbye**

_I know I'm gonna see you again  
Promise me that you won't forget  
Cause as long as you remember  
A part of us will be together  
So even when you're fast asleep  
Look for me inside your dreams  
Keep believing in what we're sharing  
And even when I'm not there to tell you  
I love you forever _

Anytime that I can't be where you are  
Just close your eyes  
And you'll be here with me  
Just look to your heart  
And that's where I'll be  
If you just close your eyes  
'Til you're drifting away  
You'll never be too far  
From me  
If you close your eyes 

Is there anywhere that far?  
Anytime you feel alone  
Is there anywhere my love cannot reach?  
Oh no  
I could be anywhere on earth  
You could be anywhere out here  
Oh baby if you are 

Just close your eyes  
And you'll be here with me  
Just look to your heart  
And that's where I'll be  
If you'll just close your eyes  
'Til you're drifting away  
You'll never be too far  
From me  
If you close your eyes

Cordelia had never had a party like that in her honor before, something thrown together on Doyle's whim, an idea pushed to fruition by Maj's enthusiasm at seeing some of the light in his commander's countenance returned to them. Doyle revealed the nature of Cordelia's mission, the reason why she'd been sent, and the Colonel had only laughed in disbelief and gratitude, had duly noted that his General laughed easier, seemed less weary. Of course the bastard had gone off and announced it to the whole complex, giving way to a plethora of cheers and applause for Cordelia though many of the soldiers didn't understand the nature of the revelation one whit. It didn't matter. 

Hours later, food was still being served in the dining hall, toasts were still being made, and soldiers stood in various states of repose, thankful for a rest, thankful for some optimism. Doyle had given a speech, announcing the nature of Cordelia's departure, told his men how she'd saved the life of the Colonel, how she'd rescued him from something dark as well. And they listened to him as he spoke, these armies of creatures, fighters for the Powers. They saw in him a remarkable change, a light behind his eyes when before there'd been rocklike stoicism, a lightness in his tone where there'd once been listlessness and suffocating gravity. They knew as well as he that the situation was bad, that there still lay a hard path before them, but with the subtle change in their commanding officer, they could begin to hope for something better. 

And thus the evening ticked away, her last hours spent with a friend she'd thought she'd lost long ago. It was pleasing, to see him so well situated, to know that when she'd be gone, he would be amongst men who dearly loved him, officers in his care who appreciated him more than she ever had, when she'd had him to herself. 

~~~~~~~~

Later, once the festivities had died down, once the celebrations had waned and reality once again impugned on their lives, they all stood in the arrival bay quietly; with far less ceremony than she'd received when first coming to Kaylorin, and into its war. Far less than the hastily scrapped together dinner in her honor earlier this evening as well. The sounds of fireworks and cheering armies still thundered in her ears. She was thankful for the present intimacy, the closeness of old friends and new. Truth be told, the pageantry of her celebratory banquet had intimidated her just a little bit. Three hundred thousand strangers cheering your name had been ego-boosting and frightening all at the same time. This on the other hand, had all the comforts of a family party. The officers were assembled (out of uniform mind you) behind Maj as she stood facing them from the base of the arrival platform; Doyle stood behind her. They had exactly twenty minutes until midnight. 

Maj, looking tired from the week's ordeal managed a genuine smile at her. "Didn't think you'd be goin' so soon, darling," he revealed. "But I guess you did your job." 

She put her hand on his head. "I have more work to do. Apparently." 

"Rare one like you? I don't doubt it," he agreed. He sat down on his haunches, used his hind foot to scratch behind his ear. "That's the funny thing about the Powers. Spend your time trying to be out of the ordinary, trying to be good, and they just pile more work on you." 

She laughed a little. "Because they know you'll take it without too much whining?" 

"Well, most of us, maybe. Yeah, that must be it." He winked at her. "Anyway, lemme let the rest of these fuddy-duddies pay their respects, and I'll usher them out so you and the Gen can have a mo' to yourselves." 

She smiled archly. "Are you conspiring?" 

"Sane military strategy, madam," he replied innocently, feigning indignance before turning back to the line of officers arranged in a perfect line behind him. "All right you Creampuffs, pay your respects to the lady and we'll be out of here. Don't want to be in the General's way, now do we?" he announced loudly, chancing a glance to his right at Doyle. The Irishman scowled at the Colonel, but with a level of humor that had long since gone from his eyes, only freshly returned. Maj couldn't help but be a little satisfied at that look. 

Tauri and Aun stepped forward first, and she took both of their hands. "I just wanted to say; back when I was staring in the conference room… you have very pretty wings." She managed to compliment Tauri without looking like a fool. It had been something she'd wanted to tell him since she'd first seen him. 

He smiled crookedly and tilted his head forward, wings folded like a cape around his neck. "Thank you." 

She turned to Aun next, took the proffered claws and folded them within both her hands. "I'm sorry about your brother," she said sincerely. 

He nodded understanding. "He would have liked you, hey." 

"Goodbye." 

They both bowed and turned around, strode out of the room. 

Gwyn coughed and went forward next. "I ah, I wasn't trying to kill you, during your physical, for the record," the blue faced girl revealed. 

Cordy laughed a little. "Sure." 

"We have no place to put three hundred prisoners because of you." It wasn't an accusation, just an observation. 

"I used to think that all demons were bad," Cordy revealed. "I had to learn the hard way that they weren't. I don't think all humans, at least, not the ones you have, are that bad either." 

"I ah, I have to confess that when you were taken, I didn't want him to go after you," Gwyn revealed, clasping her hands behind her back and looking at the floor. "Thank you for bringing him back." 

"I'm going to trust you and the others to keep him there." 

The Major nodded, and with a small smile, turned around and walked out of the room. 

Kal stepped forward next, the heavy sound of his mechanizations surprising compared to the lightness of his step. "You are an interesting hybrid," he let her know. "The potential for great power." 

"I wanted to thank you, especially," Cordelia noted. "For telling me what I am. I always wondered what was inside me, sometimes I worried about it. But, I feel much better now." 

"As you should," Kal assured her. "You are an emissary of the powers, and your demon essence is only that which is good, which is pure." 

She smiled. "Good to know." 

The robot paused. "Just, remember not to overdo it." 

She was sure that if he could smile, he would have. 

Then, there was just Maj. She had the grace to look sheepish to him. "Hey, Maj." 

"I forgive you," he responded without hesitation. 

She looked indignant. "What makes you think I was going to apologize?" 

He smiled and winked again. "It was a damn fool thing you did out on that battlefield, running in and riskin' your pretty face to try and save an old dog like me." 

She put her hands on her hips and regarded him bemusedly. "I so would have done it the same way if I had it to do again." 

He barked a laugh in response. "Yeah, I figured that." 

"So what, I don't get a hug or anything?" she held her arms open and kneeled down on the floor. 

He chuckled and put a paw around her shoulder. "Never had a pretty lady come down to me for affection before," he quipped. "Bye bye, beauty." 

"Take care of him for me?" she whispered into his ear. 

"I'll do by best, but he's a stubborn bastard." 

Cordelia snorted at this. "Anyone could have told you that. But I'm counting on you, Maj. Make sure you watch out for him. I mean…I want to…he deserves…" 

"To go home." 

She nodded. "No one deserves it more." 

He bowed his head solemnly. "I can't disagree with you there, sweetheart. I'll do my best," he promised. "He'll get to come home. One day." 

She squeezed him again, in gratitude. "Thank you." She pulled back and stood up straight, regarding him with a mysterious moisture in her eyes. She took a deep breath. 

"You two've got a little over five minutes, darlin', make good use, huh?" Maj instructed with a cheeky grin, caught somewhere in-between outright lasciviousness and keen amusement. "Be seein' ya, Cord." He winked again and then stood up, turning tail and striding out the double doors without a backwards glance. 

Both Doyle and Cordelia watched him go in silence. After a time, she turned to look at him. "It doesn't get easier." 

He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. "No, it doesn't," he agreed, eyes facing downward, brow furrowed. 

"I hate having to say goodbye to you again," she revealed. "The first time took two years. I see you again for less than a week and it all comes back." 

He made to apologize. "I…" 

She held up a hand. "But it was worth it. To know that you're okay. To know that you're alive, that you'll come back to us one day," she enthused. "I can't wait to go back and tell him. Angel will be ecstatic." 

Doyle bit his bottom lip. "About that, Cord… I…" he paused, trying to find words. "…I think it might be better, if you never told him. If you didn't tell him where I was. He doesn't need to know." 

She looked horrified and deeply confused all at once. "What? Doyle, why?" 

His eyes caught hers. "Truth be told, Princess, I don't want 'im to feel any necessary duty towards me." 

His explanation only served to puzzle her further, and he watched as her pretty forehead crinkled into a series of confused lines. "What do you mean?" 

Doyle absently drew his hand along his neck. "He knew I loved you," he said quietly. "Not that I ever let him forget that I was interested, but when I talked to him 'bout you, I could tell he knew I was in love." 

She bowed her head at the frank admission. But by his tone of voice, there was no pain left there, not much, anyway. 

"I just… if Angel thought I might be comin' back, bastard would probably martyr the both of ye off waitin' on my return." 

"Oh." Realization hit her. 

"All I'm sayin' is, I don't want the fool wastin' time, drawin' back, thinkin' he's got some responsibility as me friend to not take the chance to… to uh…" he arrived at some difficulty here in his speech, but with expression of great fortitude, took a deep breath and carried on. "… I don't want 'im to feel like lovin' you would be betrayin' me." 

She moved to refute him. "Doyle..." 

He shook his head. "It's no good Cord, we both know the fella, we both know he's the type to put everyone ahead o' himself, 'specially if he feels responsible for 'em." 

She couldn't argue with that. "He would want to know," she put in weakly. 

"And he will, eventually," Doyle assured her. "I mean, Skip, he said I'd be able ta come home one day, if I survive this, right? Angel can know then." 

"Doyle what if that's…" 

"Years from now? Decades?" he asked, finishing the thought. "All the better then, Delia. At least then the brute'd have had the time by then to realize he can't live without ye an' damn all else." His eyes twinkled at her with the thought, and with that she could see he was resolved to this. 

"Okay," she acquiesced. "He won't know. At least, not from me." 

He smiled fondly. "Thanks, Princess." 

That done, they stood in silence a moment longer. He tried to think about anything else that needed to be said. 

When the platform lit up and sparks began to explode out of thin air above the entry platform, they both jumped. Out of time. Doyle watched mesmerized for a moment, as a sphere of pure light split into itself at the point of departure, spinning and sizzling incandescent energy as it began to gain momentum, began to crackle and expand. He turned to watch her watch the light, saw her move towards the steps up to the platform, ready to leave again. Watching her, watching her go off to another mission for the Powers, another assignment before they would allow her home, it occurred to him that no future was ensured, not his, not hers. 

He grabbed her hand in his before she was two steps up. "I still love you." 

His words startled her. "Doyle…I…" 

He heard the gentle reproach in her voice, and waved her excuse off. He knew she loved Angel, saw it in her eyes every time his name came up, had perhaps even seen it the first time Cordelia had smiled at the vampire back when he'd been in LA with them. Hell, he couldn't think of anyone who deserved her love more. "I had to let you know, is all, Princess," he explained quietly. "Since they gave me another chance to see you, when I didn't think I'd be able to. Since you're leaving again." His eyes met hers, and they looked a little surer of themselves, a little less lost, than when she'd first seen him looking down at her during the arrival ceremony. "When you know you love someone, you should say it as much as you can. You never know when you won't be able to again," he added, small pearl of wisdom that seemed to allude to her. 

"No, I guess you don't." She smiled awkwardly. 

"None of that, Delia," he admonished gently. "All I'm saying is, they so much as told you that you were goin' back. He'll be there. He'll have searched the world for you, and you get to go back." He shrugged one shoulder in a self-deprecating manner. "I guess I just want to make sure that you tell him you love him, when you see him. Knowin' you two, you'd be dancin' around fer months before a word came out. An' when you do get ta tellin' him, never stop remindin' him…cause…" he trailed off. 

"…you never know," she finished for him, eyes bright with unshed tears and gratitude. 

He smiled back and nodded. "Yeah." 

She held out her arms and embraced him firmly before another thought could come to mind. "Oh Doyle," she whispered into his ear, resting her cheek against his own. He could feel the warm slipperiness of her tears there, against the roughness of his unshaven face. "I love you too," she revealed softly. "Always." 

It was a different revelation than he would have hoped for three years back, the offer of her love in a non-romantic way, in a strictly platonic way, but it warmed him all the same and he returned the embrace wholeheartedly. He'd known all along that he'd never have her, not all of her, not as Angel would. As Angel did. But this was good enough for a battered warrior like himself, more than enough, more than he thought he deserved. "You have to go back to them now," he murmured against her hair. 

She pulled back slowly, sniffled. "Yeah. I do." 

He could see the white-light portal, ever growing behind her. "They need you." 

She nodded again, took a peek over her shoulder. 

"Thank you," he added. "I was losin' my way. Again. An' you helped me find it. Again." His eyes crinkled into a form of subdued merriment. "Don't let him lose his way either." 

She didn't need to ask who he meant. 

The dimensional portal was the size of a person now, five and a half feet in length and two in diameter, a crackling force of white light not dissimilar to the one that resided within Cordelia's own blood, and even then, the both of them could feel it calling her, back to where she belonged, back to her home. It had never been his. "It's time to go now," he urged her, even as the complex clocks chimed midnight. 

She took his face in her hands and down at him. "You'll save this world, Doyle. I know you will," she encouraged him in her parting. 

He chuckled a little, put his hands on top of hers. "How can ye be so sure, Princess?"

She smiled, half amusement, half sadness. "Because you're my hero," she responded with all due sincerity, before leaning forward and brushing a devastatingly sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. He closed his eyes at the contact, fleeting as it was. All too soon, she pulled back and released him, dropping her hands to her side. "Goodbye, Doyle." 

He watched her turn and walk up those final steps to the platform, where the swirling vortex awaited her. He watched her walk into it, saw her turn at the last second and smile at him before disappearing from his life for a second time. He closed his eyes. 

"Goodbye, Cordelia." 

_I know I'm gonna see you again  
Promise me that you won't forget  
Cause as long as you remember  
A part of us will be together  
So even when you're fast asleep  
Look for me inside your dreams  
Keep believing in what we're sharing  
And even when I'm not there to tell you  
I love you forever_

Anytime that I can't be where you are  
Just close your eyes  
And you'll be here with me  
Just look to your heart  
And that's where I'll be  
If you just close your eyes  
'Til you're drifting away  
You'll never be too far  
From me  
If you close your eyes

Is there anywhere that far?  
Anytime you feel alone  
Is there anywhere my love cannot reach?  
Oh no  
I could be anywhere on earth  
You could be anywhere out here  
Oh baby if you are

Just close your eyes  
And you'll be here with me  
Just look to your heart  
And that's where I'll be  
If you'll just close your eyes  
'Til you're drifting away  
You'll never be too far  
From me  
If you close your eyes  



	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Gotta Fight Another Fight**

_So you think that you can take me on?  
You must be crazy  
There ain't a single thing you've done  
That's gonna faze me  
Oh but if you want to have a go  
I just want to let you know _

Get off of my back  
And into my game  
Get out of my way  
And out of my brain  
Get out of my face  
Or give it your best shot  
I think it's time you better face the facts  
Get off of my back

The two met on the battlefield for the umpteenth time in so many years, arch foes, surrounded by chaos but only desirous of one thing. To be one, victorious over the other. Both great leaders, they faced each other upon magnificent steeds, calm and dignified, with weapons sheathed. The afternoon sun shone down on them like a heavenly spotlight, highlighting the immaculate appearance of two such creatures of legend. It was their prerogative as the monarchy, after all. 

Saeryth sat astride King, the fearsome gray, fingers toying idly with the stallion's mane as he smiled into the eyes of his opponent. His chest plate shone, pristine in the light and fearsome to behold in shades of gold and red. The sword strapped to his back had been similarly treated, cleaned to a flawless luster and sharpened to the point where the outermost edge of the blade was invisible to the naked eye. He took a deep breath of battle weary air and expelled it with great fervor, delighting in the atmosphere of disorder and the sensations of the pending fight. The one in which the outcome was not predetermined. 

Doyle sat demurely across from Saeryth on his own horse, that he'd recently endeavored to name Savior. To remind him of Cordelia. In comparison to the General of the human army, Doyle appeared calm, relaxed for once, ready to face what may come. It was the best anyone could ask him to do, and he accepted it. Perhaps he would always be overly empathetic to the plight of others; perhaps he would be tortured by that fact for the rest of his military career. But at least, he was no longer despondent. At least now, he had the knowledge that whatever happened, he would do his best. 

"General Doyle. Lovely day to die, isn't it?" Saeryth inquired cheerily, glancing up and squinting into the brightness with which the noonday sun shone down on the combatants. 

Doyle laughed, genuinely, at his nemesis's colloquial manner, truly amused by his character rather than annoyed. "Good a day as any I suppose, Saer," he responded evenly. 

Saeryth noted the change in demeanor and sat back, with hands impertinently folded across his knee, making a show of studying his long time rival. "And what pray tell has you so cheerful today, Doyle? I hardly recognize you without your customary self-flagellating scowl."

Doyle chortled. "Nothin' Saer. I just never thought 'bout how silly you are when you make small talk right before we're supposed to be cleavin' the heads offa one another 'til just now. Kind of amusin'."

"Well then, my purpose in life has been served, General Doyle," Saeryth commented jocularly, bowing his head in mock supplication though the cheeky smirk stayed firmly ensconced on his handsome face. 

Doyle drew his sword with something almost like vigor and saluted his opponent. "So Saer, we gonna fight, or what?"

"Oh, Most certainly."

Both horses charged forward. 

_So you think that you can take me on?  
You must be crazy  
There ain't a single thing you've done  
That's gonna faze me  
Oh but if you want to have a go  
I just want to let you know_

Get off of my back  
And into my game  
Get out of my way  
And out of my brain  
Get out of my face  
Or give it your best shot  
I think it's time you better face the facts  
Get off of my back

**END **


End file.
